With You, I Can Breathe
by anxioussquirrel
Summary: Part 1 of the Breathe 'verse. Pre-Klaine. Blaine gets sexually assaulted. Burt is the one to pick up the pieces. The Hummel-Hudson household is the safe haven. My spin on the old prompt. WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT - don't read if it may be a trigger.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Once upon a time, I don't even remember where, there was a prompt like this. And this idea got stuck in my brain. I've been fighting it for months, because one, there are stories like that already (I know I even read initial chapters of one somewhere, I'm not sure if it got finished later though), and two, I don't write non-con. I'm really only interested in the _comfort_ part of it, not the _hurt_.

But since Kurt in my head keeps jumping up and down (he may or may not have his Gaga heels on, ouch) and squeaking that _he wants to help_, and whatever I try to write lately turns into little scenes for this… I gave up. Here it is. I tried to keep the _hurt_ part to minimum, because frankly, I felt a little sick writing it. It's all in chapter 1, then we move to making things better. And since I (thankfully) have no real knowledge about these things, it may all be naïve or unrealistic. Please let me know. I'm off to give myself diabetes with cotton candy fluff now.

This story is almost complete already, in 8 chapters (as of now – there may be one more or less if I decide to rearrange things while editing), and will be updated daily at my Livejournal (anxioussquirrel) and here.

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><p>CHAPTER 1<p>

The night that ended so catastrophically bad began with lots of fun. Blaine had never been to a club before and quickly decided that he loved it – the loud music, the dancing, the flashing lights, the anonymity of the crowd. But most of all he enjoyed the attention of Eric, the gorgeous blond college student that sneaked him in there and was keeping him entertained all evening. And even if entertainment included several alcoholic drinks, Blaine wasn't going to complain. He was having fun, he had no plans to sit behind the wheel any time soon, since Eric was driving – what's the problem with being a little bit more relaxed, a little naughty? It's not like he was drunk. Well, maybe just a bit – everything seemed hilarious and Eric's eyes were getting more and more beautiful, his lips red and tempting. Around midnight, when Blaine started to lean on the taller boy more and more while dancing, the blonde laughed good-naturedly.

"Looks like someone is ready to move to a more private location. My dorm room is empty tonight, you know."

And it should have been a warning sign, but it didn't sound this way. In fact, it sounded like a very good idea at that time. A place where he could finally, _finally_ kiss Eric? Awesome! Bring it on!

So they run out, holding hands and laughing, found Eric's car in one of the side streets and sped toward campus. Blaine felt a bit dazed, his head suddenly spinning much more than he realized in the flashing darkness of the club. A quick _What are you doing? What would Kurt say if he knew?_ flashed through his mind, but he ignored it determinedly. He wouldn't think of Kurt. It was _his_ night. And if Kurt wanted to be jealous and try to spoil it for him, then it was his own problem. He would have to accept that Blaine was _in love_ with this guy, this 21-year-old student who'd flirted with him at a party a week before, who was mature and confident, and a little mysterious, and so very handsome… And if Kurt couldn't support him and would keep insulting Eric like that day Blaine introduced them in the coffee shop, then well, maybe he wasn't really his friend after all. What was he doing anyway, thinking about Kurt, when they were on their way to Eric's empty room where they could kiss for hours without interruptions? Blaine sighed, delighted – so far his date was almost too much of a gentleman, not even trying to move past hand-holding and a peck on the cheek, but he felt confident that tonight they would go further. And he was _so _ready to finally have his first kiss, to explore Eric's lips, his tongue, his mouth, until he knew them by heart. True, the blonde was a smoker and the cigarette smell lingering around him was a bit of a turn-off, but Blaine refused to be hindered by such details, enthralled as he was by the prospect of having a boyfriend.

Eric's room was small, cluttered and kind of smelly, and Blaine's brain was trying to break through the alcoholic fog and tell him it was not a good idea after all, but the older boy quickly silenced it with another drink, and then they were finally kissing, hungrily, passionately, and it was amazing.

Until it wasn't.

Because gradually Eric became _more_ – more hungry, more insistent, more aggressive. As long as it was just his lips and neck, Blaine could deal with it, though he felt overwhelmed. But then Eric was pinning him to the bed – and woah, when did they lay down? and why was the room spinning so much? – and his hands were under Blaine's shirt, and in the next instant the shirt was off and Eric's hand was navigating towards his belt buckle, his teeth on Blaine's nipple, and it was too much, too soon, too fast.

"No. Stop it."

"What's the matter, baby? Are you uncomfortable? Let's just peel these pants off of you and I'll make it all better."

"No. It's too much."

"Oh come on, you know you want it."

"No, I really don't." He felt like he was going to be sick from sudden vertigo when Eric's hand landed on his zipper anyway.

"Huh, it seems you're right, you don't seem interested at all. Maybe I shouldn't have given you this last drink after all. Well, I'll just let you sleep it off then, there's no use going all the way back to your house. You can bunk here. Make yourself comfortable, I'll go take a shower."

Blaine must have dozed off then, right where he was, because the next thing he noticed was a quiet clinking noise and something cold on his wrist, pulling his arm over his head. It was all really curious, so he forced himself somewhat awake, tried to sit up and see… And he couldn't. Something was wrong, something held him down. Panic raising slowly in his chest chased away all remnants of sleepiness. He looked up. There were handcuffs linking his left wrist to the bars of the metal headboard. He was trapped. And Eric was standing over him with a smile that wasn't kind and charming anymore, just devious, and a second pair of silver handcuffs ready to use.

In a burst of adrenaline Blaine tried to get off the bed, yanking his hand free from the cuff, but the only thing he gained was ripping pain in his shoulder. The headboard didn't even budge. And then there was sudden pounding in his head and copper taste of blood on his tongue, and Eric was kneeling on the bed, the hand that had just hit him still raised.

"Behave, you little slut. Did you think that you could tease me all this time and then refuse to deliver? You can't do this. It's really impolite, you know. Now be a good little boy and turn over so that I can secure your other hand. Don't make me force you. You'll like it, I promise."

This was the moment when all sense left Blaine in an overwhelming wave of fear and the rest of the night consisted of disjointed sounds and sensations.

Being flipped over on the bed, his left arm twisted at painfully wrong angle. More clinking as his other wrist was quickly secured to the headboard. The feeling of his jeans and underwear being pulled off. Eric's unwanted touches, kisses, sharp bites breaking skin. His words washing over Blaine, praising him on being a perfect little slut, telling him he'd like it, promising to prepare him real good, warning to be quiet or else. And then crinkling of a wrapper, terrible pressure of slick fingers, then more than fingers, Eric's obscene moans, his weight on him and pain, an ocean of pain that he was drowning in. The other man's jerky movements and breathless sounds, fingernails leaving long burning lines, and then finally stillness and silence, disturbed only by harsh breathing.

He didn't know how long he lay there, the pillow underneath his face wet with tears and blood from the lip he was biting on to stop himself from screaming, but then his hands were free, his clothes thrown on the bed next to him, and Eric whispered in his ear "I told you you'd like it. Now get out of here. And if you ever think of complaining – remember, you asked for it, you little cocktease. You just got what you deserve. You don't want anyone to know what a worthless slut you are, do you?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I didn't mention it before, but the flow of this story required it to be written from different points of view. I made sure all the changes are clear and consistent.

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><p>CHAPTER 2<p>

That damn phone was ringing again. It was the third time in a row and Burt swore under his breath, slipping from under the warm covers to go to Kurt's room and give whomever was calling a piece of his mind. It was three in the morning, what were they thinking? Did Kurt really answer the phone at this hour? He'd have to seriously talk to his son as soon as he's back from Columbus. This damn thing was like a limb extension to this boy. He already called from Finn's phone, panicked, mere hours after they got to Carole's sister's, to ask if it was in his room, because he couldn't find it and wasn't sure if he lost it or simply didn't take it in all the chaos of last-minute packing. The phone turned out to be there, on Kurt's bed, and now was about to be switched off for the week, just as soon as Burt dealt with this damn night caller.

He stumbled in the darkness of the room, led only by the faint light of the display. It said _Blaine :) _and Burt grumbled under his breath. This damn kid. He was nice enough, that was true, and from the way Kurt was constantly talking about him Burt knew that their friendship was making his son happy, but lately he had his objections. First there was this day before Valentine's when Kurt cried all evening in his room. Then he found Blaine in Kurt's bed after that party. The latest drama was just the day before yesterday, when Kurt came from their coffee date fuming and announced he'd be going with Finn to Columbus that evening after all, because there's simply nothing to do in Lima during mid-winter break. Considering his earlier plans included mostly hanging out with Blaine, they must have fought. Was the boy calling at this hour to apologize or something? Oh, Burt would tell him a thing or two…

Except he didn't even get a chance to say anything before he heard sobbing from the other end of the line, and then ragged, shaky voice.

"Kurt? Thank god. I… I know you're mad at me but could you… I need you, please. Could you pick me up? Could you just take me from this place? Please, I don't know what to do, please…" Fresh wave of heart wrenching sobs erupted from the speaker and Burt's heart squeezed painfully in his chest in a way that had nothing to do with his recent health problems. Something happened to this kid, something bad.

"Blaine, it's Kurt's dad. He's not here, he went away for a week and forgot his phone. What happened? Are you okay? Do you need help?"

"Mr Hummel? I… I just… I'm on the college campus and I don't have a car and… I'm sorry, I shouldn't…"

"What are you doing on campus at this hour?"

"I…"

"Never mind, I'll come get you, just go to the gates and stay put." He was already on his way to the bedroom to grab his clothes. What happened? What was Blaine doing there in the middle of the night, and why was he so distraught? No matter, he would ask later, now he had to go – he couldn't leave a teenager in need on his own like that. He knew Kurt wouldn't either, no matter how bad they fought.

Carole was awake, standing anxiously in the doorway to their bedroom. Burt hugged her briefly.

"I'll just go out for a while. It was Blaine – I don't know what happened, but it sounds like he's in trouble. He needs someone to give him a ride home."

Burt saw her switch into Mum Mode immediately. He knew she had a soft spot for Kurt's friend. "Is he alright?"

"I don't know. He didn't sound alright to me."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, there's no use for both of us to be tired in the morning. Go back to bed."

"Okay. I love you. Be careful."

"I will. I love you too."

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><p>Burt saw the slight figure as soon as he pulled over to the campus gates. Blaine was hunched against a nearby wall, arms hugging his midsection. In the glare of the headlights he looked completely wretched. A huge bruise was beginning to form on his left cheek and there was dried blood covering his lower lip and chin. His eyes were hollow, unseeing. It was not the same confident, collected teenager he'd seen with Kurt.<p>

Burt got out of the car and approached him.

"Blaine?" The boy startled as if expecting a blow. Something was very wrong here. "Son, what happened? Who did this to you?" Brown eyes looked at him a bit more consciously now.

"Oh… I just… I was in a fight." Well, clearly. Yet it wasn't the whole truth, Burt could tell. When you live with two teenage boys, you learn to recognize such things. Suspicions began to form in his head.

"Was it some sort of homophobic attack?"

"What? No, nothing like that. Just… personal stuff."

"Personal, you say. Are you hurt? Do you need to go to a hospital?"

"No! No hospitals, please, I'm fine, I just want to go home." Burt didn't like the look of panic in Blaine's eyes, but he had no reason to argue the case. Yet.

"Okay, let's go then."

Blaine made an unsteady step towards the car and stumbled over his own feet. Burt reached out instinctively to stabilize him, his hand landing on the boy's shoulder, and two things happened at once. Blaine screamed in pain and at the same time flinched from the touch so violently that he landed on the ground with a thud. He was sitting there, whimpering and hugging his left arm to his chest, his face contorted in a grimace of such dread that Burt ached all over. What happened to this kid? One thing was certain – he needed medical attention. There was something wrong with his arm. Hell, there was something wrong with more than that.

He crouched by the boy, careful not to make any sudden movements. It felt like approaching a small, scared animal.

"Blaine? I'm sorry, I was just trying to catch you. I won't hurt you, I promise. But you need a doctor, this arm must be killing you." He kept his voice calm and quiet.

Blaine was shaking his head _no_ furiously, but pain was evident in his eyes.

"It's not up for discussion, buddy. You are going to the ER. I can drive you myself or I can call your parents to come and take you, if you prefer." He'd have to call the parents anyway, it was just a question of when. He could give the kid a bit more time to gather his bearings before he had to explain what he was doing away from home at this hour and what happened to him. He certainly didn't look like he was ready for confrontation yet.

"They are not home." Blaine's whisper was barely audible. Well, that explained a lot.

"Okay, so I'll just call them and they will meet us at the hospital when they get there."

"They are in Europe. They won't be back for another week."

That complicated things.

"So who are you staying with?"

"Alone."

Well doesn't it get better every minute.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do. Here, take my hand. We'll get you to the car and go to the hospital. I'll call your parents from there and tell them to come back as soon as they can. Ready?"

After a moment of hesitation Blaine grabbed Burt's outstretched hand with his uninjured one and stood up, leaning heavily on the older man. He was shaking all over. Being so close, Burt could now smell alcohol on the kid's breath, and not just beer or wine, hard stuff. He opened the passenger door for him and Blaine got in the car, wincing. Burt helped him fasten the safety belt and that's when he noticed. Under the hem of his jacket, the boy's belt buckle was undone, his jeans only half-buttoned. Dread washed over him.

"Blaine…" he began, as gently as he could, even as fury boiled in him at the mere thought of what he was about to imply. "Did someone… force you to do anything you didn't want?"

The teenager whimpered weakly and curled up as much as he could in the car seat, yet shook his head _no_. But Burt was not a fool. It all fit.

He felt sick. This was so much worse than he imagined. The thought that some sick bastard would touch this kid against his will… The force of protectiveness he suddenly felt astounded him. His hand itched for the shotgun he kept safely hidden in a gun cabinet at home, unused for years. Oh, if he only had it with him, if only Blaine gave him the name and dorm room of this little shit… He ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. No. It was not his job here. He had to help this boy – hurt, terrified, alone… He had to take care of him just the way he would have taken care of Kurt if – god forbid – he was ever in such situation. And that meant being there for him, supporting him in every possible way and if his suspicions were confirmed – and he very much hoped they wouldn't be – making sure that justice was served by proper authorities.

Slowly, carefully, he laid his hand on Blaine's good shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"You're safe now, son. I've got you. Whatever happened, we'll get through this, I promise."

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><p><strong>Please review - I'd love to know what you think.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **This chapter is longer, 2200 words. And I'm kind of nervous about it...

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><p>CHAPTER 3<p>

Doctor Kathy Miller was just putting on her coat to go home after a long shift when her cell phone rang. It was Melissa, one of her favorite nurses from the ER.

"Doctor Miller, are you still in the hospital?"

"I was just about to leave, why?"

"I hate to bother you, but we have a patient here who might need your expertise."

She swore under her breath. It was nothing official, but everyone in the hospital knew that she was the go-to person in sexual assault cases. She wasn't specifically trained, but she had years of experience working with rape victims and a personality that seemed to soothe and encourage to trust her. Just over forty, she had a maternal air about her and she never judged or acted condescendingly. If her skills were needed now, it meant that down there, in the ER, there was someone who might have just been hurt and broken, and her heart ached for them as it always did. She sighed and sat behind her desk.

"Tell me."

"Patient brought with a shoulder injury. Bruised wrists and face. Bite marks and scratches. And you know this look in their eyes."

"Sounds like you're right. How old is she?"

"It's a boy. He's seventeen. And he's supposed to be examined by doctor Macmillan."

Kathy winced. A boy – that didn't happen often here, she remembered maybe a dozen of such cases in her career and they were that much more difficult. And Macmillan – he might be competent, but he was a competent ass, arrogant and, what's worse, vocally homophobic. It was the worst possible combination in this case.

"Melissa, try to intercept him please, don't let him anywhere near the patient, don't give him the file. I'll be right there."

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><p>Five minutes later Kathy entered examination room number three. She was back in her scrubs, patient's file in hand, the usual warm smile on her kind face. The boy was sitting on the examination table, already in the green paper gown. His eyes were downcast, his face blank. In the harsh hospital lights he looked young, vulnerable and hurt.<p>

A middle-aged, tired-looking man raised from a chair when she entered and came up to her to talk quietly.

"Hi, I'm Burt Hummel." She took the extended hand. Hummel. The kid's name was Anderson, so probably not the father. Better to clarify though.

"I'm doctor Miller. Are you family?"

"No, I'm just a father of Blaine's friend. I happened to answer the phone my son forgot to take when he went away for a few days. Blaine said he was in a fight and needed a ride home but I think there's more to it." Burt's gray eyes were clearly worried as he whispered, "I think… there's a possibility he was molested. He barely said anything, but I just… Please, take good care of him."

She looked him straight in the eyes. "I will. Mr. Hummel…"

"Please, call me Burt."

"Burt. Are Blaine's parent's coming?"

"I can't get hold of them. I took their number from Blaine's phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. But as far as I know, they are in Europe and he has no other family here."

"All right, you act as a temporary guardian then. I'm sorry, but I need to ask you – do you know if Blaine is gay?"

The man's eyes hardened. "Does it make a difference to you? Because if it does, I will ask for another doctor."

"And you would be right to do so in such case. But no, it makes absolutely no difference to me. It would just help me to know that when I try to approach the topic of possible abuse."

"Oh. Sorry, I just assumed… Yes, Blaine is gay. So is my son, so I'm kind of used to homophobic reactions, that's why I snap."

"It's okay. I will examine him now, you can wait outside if you want to."

Burt approached the kid, standing close, but respectful of his personal space.

"Blaine, I'll be right behind this door if you need me."

"No, please don't go!" Panic flashed in the teenager's amber eyes as he grabbed the man's hand. Burt looked surprised, but didn't withdraw it. He looked at Kathy to check if it's okay. She nodded. The boy could use all the support he could get and if he was comfortable with his friend's father, all the better.

Burt squeezed Blaine's hand and sat down. "Okay. I'll stay with you if you want."

Kathy focused fully on her patient now. She could see that he was trying with all his might to hold himself together, but he was dead tired. He wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer. If she wanted to talk to him before he shut her out, she'd have to be quick. She approached the table, careful not to make any sudden movements, and kept her voice quiet and level.

"Hello Blaine. I'm doctor Miller and I'd like to look at this shoulder of yours. Can you tell me what happened?"

His answer was mechanical, as if he was repeating a script he didn't particularly care for.

"I was in a fight. It got twisted." So this was the official version.

The shoulder turned out to be dislocated, but fortunately just partially. Pain management and a sling, maybe some physical therapy later, was all it needed. After administering painkillers, she proceeded to examine the other injuries. To her experienced eyes, they were clearly sexually related. She counted thirteen bite marks on the boy's back, some of them vicious and bloody, and there were deep scratch marks just over his hips, four on each side. His wrists were bruised, and not in a way one would expect from simply being held down – the marks were narrow, most likely resulting from ties or handcuffs. Left side of the boy's face was swollen and bruised, his lower lip bloody where he – or someone else – almost bit through. She didn't even need additional evidence of the way he winced while sitting and jumped minutely whenever he felt her touch anywhere, to know that this young man was sexually assaulted. His wounds were superficial, they would heal quickly. His psyche was another matter entirely.

Now came the difficult part.

"Blaine, I need to ask you some personal questions. Would you like Mr. Hummel to step outside for this part?"

"No."

Burt clenched his jaw, as if preparing himself for what he might hear, but nodded.

"Okay then. I need you to be honest with me. I can tell that you have just had sex, probably for the first time in your life." He didn't answer, but the way he dropped his eyes told her she was right. "I need to know if it was consensual."

He hesitated way too long to make the answer believable when it finally came. "Yes."

"Was it the first time for your boyfriend too?"

He shuddered at _boyfriend_. "No, I don't think so."

"And did he – what's his name?..."

"Eric." He answered quickly, automatically this time, before he caught himself. This trick worked almost every time.

"So did Eric use protection? I need to know if there's any risk of STDs to consider."

"He did." Thank God for the small mercies.

"Good." She moved to examine the injuries on Blaine's face. Touching the bruise there, she looked straight into the amber eyes and said quietly, "He hit you. You said no, didn't you?"

The first silent sob shook the hunched form. She touched one of the bruised wrists next.

"And these are ligature marks. If you're not into kinky stuff, and I don't believe many people are during their first time, they mean you were restrained. He forced you, didn't he?" Burt had raised to stand by Blaine's side the second he showed the first sign of breaking down. He looked positively sick now, fury almost crackling around him.

There were more sobs, and the broken _yes_ was almost lost among them. Burt moved quickly, his emotions miraculously in check for now, and laid his hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder. When Blaine didn't withdraw, the man pulled him into a careful hug. He sank into it, shaking with sobs. Kathy gave them a minute before she spoke again, as gently as she could.

"Blaine, it was rape. You need to report it."

The reaction was instantaneous.

"No, nonono, I can't, please, please don't make me!" The boy worked himself up into panic in a matter of seconds.

"Okay, Blaine, shh, nobody's going to make you do anything. Shh, breathe, you need to calm down. Breathe."

After a while his breathing finally evened out, but tears were still flowing. She felt bad that she had to do what she was going to do next, but it was necessary. "Blaine, nobody can _make_ you report the attack, but I want to leave this way open for you. It's the best thing to do. And if we don't think about it now, it will most likely be too late to act effectively when you decide to press charges. I'll tell you what we can do, just listen and think about it, okay?"

The boy nodded weakly.

"I'll give Mr. Hummel two phone numbers for you. One is a contact to a good counselor – you may not think about it now, but you _will_ need therapy to help you come to terms with what happened. The other – it's for a police officer specializing in sexual crimes. She is also my friend. Believe me, she will understand. When you are ready – not if, Blaine, _when _– you will call her and she will take your statement. She will already have mine. But in order to do this, I will need to document your injuries, _all of them_. And I will need to do it now, while they are still fresh."

"No, I can't do this. Please. I just want to go home..."

"Blaine, I need you to be strong just a little bit longer. I know it's painful and scary, but it's necessary. I'll be gentle and finish this as fast as I can, I promise. Tell me, do you have a place or a person that makes you feel safe?"

"Kurt," the answer was immediate. Burt's eyebrows raised and he looked funny at the boy.

"Kurt then. I want you to think about him now. What does he do that makes you feel most comfortable and safe?"

Blaine's eyes were closed now. "He sings. His voice makes me warm and happy."

"Good. Now, imagine Kurt singing, focus on this image. I need you to relax and not think about what I'm doing. Can you try?"

He did. It helped. She measured, photographed, described and took samples, and the boy sat there focused on his inner world, changing positions when she asked him. Even during the worst of it, he didn't flinch, though tears were silently flowing down his face. All through the process, he held Burt's hand so tightly that his knuckles were white, while the man stood with his eyes focused on a wall, to grant Blaine some privacy. His eyes looked haunted.

When Kathy finished documenting and cleaning every injury, she helped the boy get dressed and told him she would just talk to Mr. Hummel outside for a minute and then he could go home. He just nodded, looking tortured and dead tired.

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><p>Outside with Burt, Kathy asked, "So what happens with Blaine now? He really shouldn't be alone."<p>

"He won't, he's coming home with me and will stay with us until his parents come back. I already talked to my wife before you came. Kurt's not there, but it's better than an empty house."

Kurt? Burt's son was Blaine's safe person then? Too bad he was away, he could really help.

"Good. He's ready to go then, you just need to pick up painkillers from the pharmacy on your way out. And I need to warn you that it can be difficult for this boy to deal with what happened to him. You can expect him to struggle. He may be different – distant, defensive, absent, angry, depressed, blaming himself… it could manifest in many different ways. You have to be very patient with him. He needs support, safety. Give him space, but be there for him.

"And here are the contacts I mentioned. The sooner he's ready to use them, the better. Try to gently encourage him to do so and tell his parents to do the same later. But no forcing – he needs to know that he still has a right to say no, even though someone tried to take it away from him. It's a delicate situation that may influence this boy's whole life. I hope it works out."

"Thank you, doctor. I'll go get him now."

"Goodbye, Burt."

When she looked at him just before he went back into the room, his face was infinitely gentle and caring. If she didn't know better, she would assume he was there for his own child, the way he reacted. Blaine was lucky to have someone like that beside him in this ordeal.

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><p><strong>As I said, I'm <em>really<em> nervous about this chapter. **

**First, I'm not sure about the way Kathy talks with Blaine. I played it by ear and it sounds right to me, but I don't have any solid knowledge about all this.**

**Second, I don't live in the States and I'm not sure about the law - is the doctor obliged to report it if they suspect sexual assault? If it is so, let's assume that Kathy pulls some strings with her friend when the patients are too traumatized to be talked to right away - she reports it and gives her statement/documentation right away and the police contact the victim after a week, if they are not contacted by that time? Or something like that. Um.**

**Also, it's my first real, talking OC. (I don't count Eric.) **

**Please review! I love to hear from you! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thank you so much for all your awesome reviews, kind words and information about the legal issues! I'm really happy you liked the previous chapter and my OC :)

Now we finally move to the _comfort_ part. This chapter is sort of an in-between, not much happens, my favorite part begins with the next one.

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><p>CHAPTER 4<p>

It was still early morning when they got home from the hospital. Blaine's parents haven't called or answered their phone yet. As they were driving, Burt considered their options and finally decided to put the boy in Kurt's bedroom – the bed was comfortable, the room quiet and the familiarity of it would give Blaine at least a minimum of comfort. Besides, Kurt was away until Wednesday anyway.

This kept bothering Burt actually. Maybe he should contact his son, tell him about the attack? But… what was the point of disturbing him if he wasn't here anyway? He knew Kurt, knew how deep he _felt_ things, how hard it would be for him to hear what happened to his friend, the boy he was probably in love with if Burt read the signs correctly. No, he decided, they would tell him after he comes back, when it isn't so fresh and raw anymore, and Blaine is better and at home with his parents, just as he should be.

Carole greeted them by the door and if she was shocked by Blaine's state, she didn't show it. She moved to hug the boy, but noticed her husband's frantic gestures behind him just in time to stop herself. She just smiled at him instead. The kid seemed not to notice anyway. He could barely keep his eyes open anymore and his legs refused to support him fully. Burt led him upstairs, dug in the closet for some sweats Kurt never wore and a loose T-shirt, and helped him change. It should be weird, but it wasn't. It felt as natural as the last time he had to help his own son change into fresh pajamas when he had the flu last year. The only difference was that Blaine didn't complain feverishly about the color not matching his sheets. Burt put their guest to bed then, closed the curtains and told him to try to sleep. He couldn't help worrying about how silent and apathetic the kid was since they left the hospital, his eyes blank and absent, his moves automatic. He was shutting down, rising walls, closing himself in. He shouldn't be alone with strangers, dammit. Where were his parents?

He felt drained as he went back downstairs, right into his wife's comforting embrace. He clung to her silently for a long while, letting her warmth seep into his body, wash over him in waves of calm. Then they sat together at the kitchen table, with cups of steaming coffee in hand, cold sunlight of a winter morning streaming through the windows, and he told her everything. Carole cried. Then they cried together, feeling helpless and angry and terrified of the world where children could be hurt like this. And then they finished their coffee and held hands and put their brave faces back on, because that's what parents do.

* * *

><p>Blaine was drowning. Dread kept coursing through his veins, panic bubbled in his mind, fed with memories that flashed before his eyes with terrible clarity. Dizziness, stuffy room spinning around him. Kisses, wet and forceful. Hands, groping, scratching, violating. Cold touch of metal on wrists. Pain in his shoulder, his sides, everywhere. Moans and whispers. Terror and shame and… No, he couldn't think about it. He wanted the memories to stop, his mind to just go blank, <em>stop, stop, just make it stop, please<em>.

He hadn't paid attention to his surroundings since that dreadful examination ended, barely registering being in a car, then a house, going up some steps, someone helping him change into something warm and soft (he flinched at first, but the hands and the voice were somehow familiar, safe, and that was okay). Then he was lying, comfortable and warm in semi-darkness, and doors were closing quietly, and there was a sense of familiarity to this place, reaching him even through all the dread, a feeling of _safe_, and he inhaled deeply and the blankets smelled like safety, like peacefulness, like _Kurt_, and he understood where he was. Gathering the familiar smell around him like a shield, he thought of his friend – his angelic face, his clear eyes, his voice, soft and strong and beautiful. Finally his mind shut down and he fell into the black, dreamless abyss of sleep.

* * *

><p>The scream woke Burt up from a nap six hours later. He'd had a difficult conversation with Blaine's father earlier and when he'd gone up to check on the boy after that, he'd found him asleep, looking quite peaceful, and felt a twinge in his chest at how young and vulnerable he was. He couldn't shake a sudden, terrifying vision of Kurt lying there like that, broken and hurt.<p>

He trotted upstairs now to find Blaine still asleep, but clearly in a grip of a nightmare. All peacefulness was gone. The boy was tangled in the blanket, tossing his head violently, gasping for breath. Sweat was rolling off his forehead and his face was contorted with pain, but it was his voice that shot through Burt like lightening – broken and terrified, sobbing Kurt's name over and over again, pleading for help. That's when he made the only decision that made sense. Years later he would still recall it as one of the best decisions of his life.

Sitting down on the bed, he woke Blaine gently, talking to him soothingly, careful not to touch him, not to scare him further. When the boy was finally awake and somewhat calmer, he looked at him imploringly.

"How do you feel?"

"Shaken. Weak. Weird. Everything seems unreal." Blaine's voice was distant, monotone.

"Do you want to stay in bed for now? You haven't slept too long."

"Would you mind if I did?"

"Of course not. I'll go get you lunch, okay? I'll be back in a moment."

Ten minutes and one phone call later Burt was back with a bowl of soup and some fresh bread on a tray. He made sure Blaine sat comfortably against the pillows and let him eat in silence before he spoke.

"Blaine, your father called after you fell asleep," he tried very hard not to let anger show in his voice at the memory of this earlier conversation. "He told me they can't change their plans and will come back next Sunday morning. He asked me to take you home, said he'd tell his secretary to bring you meals and groceries every day."

Blaine shrugged. His eyes, clear a moment ago, were getting clouded and distant again. Burt could practically see the walls coming up.

"We won't do that."

That snapped Blaine from the stupor. He looked at Burt, stunned.

"I will refrain from expressing opinions about your parents. Sorry, I might have shouted at your father a bit." He might have been embarrassed if he wasn't so angry. "What I know for certain is that you shouldn't be alone right now. You will stay here with us for the week." Blaine tried to protest, but Burt wouldn't let him. "Now, both me and Carole have to work and anyway, you need a friend, not just a guardian. That's why I'm bringing Kurt home early – so that he can be here for you."

Blaine's eyes grew wide, incredulous. His voice trembled when he spoke.

"Thank you. For everything. I really don't want to be any trouble."

"Don't worry about it," Burt answered sincerely. He felt responsible for this boy now, as if he was his second step-son. "I like to think someone would do the same for my boys if they needed it."

"But…" regret sounded clearly in Blaine's voice, "Kurt may not even want to see me. I was terrible to him these past couple of days. I don't think he will want to be my friend anymore." His voice broke. "And he was just trying to protect me. He was right all along."

"What was he right about?"

"Eric." The name was spat with disgust. "I introduced them a couple of days ago, when we started dating. Kurt absolutely hated him on first sight and didn't even try to hide it, you know how he can be. He insulted him repeatedly in this witty way of his, insinuating that he was creepy, fake and predatory. I don't think Eric understood half of it, but he got the gist and demanded we 'leave this jealous kid and go somewhere else'. And I agreed, even though Kurt was my best friend in the whole world. Before I went, he begged me to be careful, said there was something that worried him about this guy. I just snorted. I haven't talked to him since, ignored his calls and messages. If I'd only listened… But no, I had to go and get myself into this mess. I should have known all along…" He sounded bitter now.

"Hey, no! Don't even _think_ about blaming yourself for this. So you were naïve – yes, but that's what you are when you're a teenager. Naïve and idealistic and trusting. It doesn't mean you did anything wrong – you met a really bad guy on your way, it was _his_ fault that he hurt you and he needs to be arrested and punished for it. Yes, you could have used better judgment. Yes, ideally you shouldn't sneak out at night or drink alcohol. But everyone does that once or twice when they are teens, it doesn't mean they deserve to be abused! It was _not_ your fault, do you understand?"

Blaine just shrugged weakly. Burt put his heavy hand on his shoulder.

"And don't doubt Kurt's friendship, kid. He is one of the most loyal people I've ever known. And he really cares about you. I've just called him, he's packing already. I'm going to get him right now. We'll be back before dinner."

He smiled, seeing just a bit of light return to Blaine's eyes. Yes, that was the right thing to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Wow, almost 100 alerts, 33 favorites and 34 reviews so far? I've never thought this story would get so much positive feedback, and we're not even halfway through yet. Thank you all so much! I hope you will like the rest of it at least as much.

I loved writing this chapter!

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><p>CHAPTER 5<p>

Kurt was having a really miserable week. And it was only getting worse. He'd fought with Blaine about the creepy guy that came with him to the coffeehouse (_Eric_ – he remembered) and it probably cost him their friendship. Kurt hadn't even tried to be nice – the blond leered at Blaine's ass openly, his hair was most certainly bleached – and badly at that – and he reeked of cigarettes. Blaine deserved so much better than that. Not to mention Kurt just had this weird feeling about this man, like something wasn't right, like his gut was telling him to stay away, and he trusted his instincts. Of course, Blaine got angry and hadn't spoken to him once since then, ignoring his calls and texts. And as brokenhearted as Kurt was, seeing his (_crush? dream boyfriend? love?_) friend smitten with another man, losing him altogether hurt much, much more.

Columbus was boring when he had no one to conquer it with – Finn wasn't exactly the best companion for shopping or going to the cinema, unless they wanted to watch two separate movies. He was already regretting coming here. It didn't help that he forgothis phone back at home – bitching about Blaine's new crush to Mercedes while hastily packing his bag at the same time wasn't one of his best ideas. He told himself that it would do Blaine good to see what it was like to be ignored, but all he achieved was making himself even more miserable. Now he had no way to talk to his friends for a week and Blaine probably wouldn't even notice his silence anyway, busy with his new boyfriend.

"Kurt!" Finn's voice was a little anxious as he held out his phone to his step-brother. "Your dad wants to talk to you."

Kurt's heart skipped a beat. Burt Hummel wasn't one of those parents who would call just to chat or ask how he was. Something must have happened.

Sure enough, his father's voice was tense and tired, and he suddenly sounded old, even as he tried to speak brightly.

"Hi kiddo. How's Columbus?"

"Fine. Dad, what's wrong?" There was a sigh from the other end of the line.

"Kurt, there… there was an incident."

"Are you all right? You didn't have more heart trouble, did you?" Fear made his voice shrill and even higher than usual.

"I'm fine, don't worry."

"Carole?"

"She's all right too. Kurt… son, it's Blaine." His legs must have given way, because suddenly he was kneeling on the ground. "He… he was attacked."

Kurt heard a whimper and realized it came from his own throat. Weird. And what was this vice tightening in his chest?

"He'll be fine," Burt added quickly. "Physically, at least. They just patched him up in hospital and let him go..."

The fist crushing his heart released it and Kurt drew a long, shaky breath he didn't know he needed a second ago. _Blaine's not dead. Not dead. He'll be fine._

"… but other than that he's in a pretty bad shape, Kurt. He really needs a friend right now. I know you guys fought recently, but do you think you could somehow put it aside and be there for him if I came to get you?"

His jaw literally dropped in surprise – his dad wanted to come get him so that he could be with Blaine? – but there was no hesitation in his voice.

"Any time."

"Good. I'm on my way then, pack your things and be ready to go. Carole will talk to Marsha in a minute and explain. The official version is that I just need you to help me in the garage, since we're busier than ever all of a sudden. Tell the same to Finn, let's not spread the news yet, okay?"

"Yeah. Dad… thanks."

* * *

><p>Burt disconnected, leaving his son shocked, terrified, heart aching for his best friend. Sweet, kind, charming Blaine. How could anybody hurt him? Was it Karofsky and his henchmen? Some other homophobic bullies? Random mugging? And how did his father learn about it, anyway? It wasn't as if their parents ever talked or anything. Burt shouldn't even <em>know<em> if anything happened to his son's friend, let alone be so involved. What was going on? And what did he mean by "at least physically"? What did they do to him?

The next hour and a half felt like infinity. Kurt was pretty sure there was a path worn out in the hall carpet already from all his pacing. Sound of a car braking in the driveway sent him running out, bag in hand. His father must have speeded, he thought shocked. It took them an hour more to get here when Burt was dropping him and Finn off two days before. Questions were spilling out of him the second his dad got out of the car, but then he was being crushed in a sudden hug, _Thank god you're fine_ murmured in his ear.

"Of course I am. Dad, what's going on? How…?"

"In a minute, kid. Get in the car, I'll just talk to Marsha and Finn. I'll tell you everything on the way home."

"But…"

Home? He didn't have time to go home, he had to go see Blaine right away! And did he imagine the uncomfortable look on his father's face when he said "everything"? His anxiety turned into cold terror by the time his dad was back two minutes later, phone by his ear (… _yeah, we're on our way home now, see you soon_), and he couldn't stop the word flood any longer as they were speeding along an empty road.

"Dad, I can't go home! It will get late and Blaine's parents won't let me visit him today, and I have to see him. How bad is it anyway? And were they caught? The attackers? And how come you're involved anyway?" Burt was silent, agonized look on his face scaring Kurt more by the second. "Dad?" his voice was plain squeaky now, terrified.

What made his blood go cold was that his dad actually _swore_, punched the steering wheel and hit the brakes sharply, stopping at the side of the road. When he faced his son, he looked older than ever and his eyes were somehow furious and compassionate at the same time.

"One, we're going home for a reason. Two, Blaine's got a dislocated shoulder and some cuts and bruises. Three, no, they didn't catch the man, not yet anyway. And my involvement… Kurt, I went to get Blaine when he called your cell last night, after the assault. I took him to the ER. His fucking parents can't be bothered and won't return from some business trip until Sunday. _Next_ Sunday, that's over a week, Kurt! I don't get it, their kid is assaulted like that and it's like they don't even care? '_He's always been overdramatic_'? '_It's not that bad if they let him out of hospital, he'll be fine_'? Seriously?

" So he stays with us until then. In your room in fact, it's at least a familiar place. I hope you don't mind camping in Finn's room for a while? I won't leave a broken, hurt, barely holding himself together kid alone for a week with just his daddy's secretary popping in once a day with takeout. And they call themselves parents?" – his dad was practically rambling now, all indignant fury and flashing eyes, and Kurt threw himself in his arms, sniffling.

"Thank you dad. Thank you for helping him like that. I love you so much. You are the best person I know. Thank you."

He hid his tear-stained face on his father's chest, but the man was still tense, his body trembling slightly. That wasn't all, was it? There was something else. Slowly, Kurt's mind found the little clues: _the man_? _Assaulted_, not _beaten up_ or _attacked_? _Assaulted like that_? It was almost like… oh. Oh no. No, he must be mistaken. That can't be it, no. No! But his heart already knew, even before he looked up, wide-eyed and white as a sheet, searching for something, anything to stop the growing suspicion, the certainty.

"He… he wasn't…? I mean…" The tortured look in his father's eyes told him everything. "Blaine was _raped_? Oh god, no. Nonononono."

And then he was flinging the door open and his dad was unfastening his seatbelt and holding him as he threw up, threw up until he felt empty and still he couldn't stop the spasms and the sobbing, and tears were blinding him, and the only thing he could see was Blaine's beautiful face, all smiles and warmth and sparkling amber eyes. And the thought that someone could do something like that… Someone…

"It was that guy, wasn't it? Eric?" he managed to whisper.

"Yes."

"I'll kill the fucking bastard." Panic was turning to rage now and he was sitting up, his whole body shaking, adrenaline pumping through his veins. "He's already dead. I'll eviscerate him. I'll tear him limb from limb." For the first time in his life, he was actually seeing red.

"No, you won't." His father's hand was heavy on his arm, his voice solemn. "You will go home and help your best friend face the worst thing that's ever happened to him. You will show him there's at least one person in the whole world that he can really trust. You will help him find strength to face the reality of it and press charges. Because right now you seem to be the only person Blaine really reaches for, Kurt. Do you think you can deal with all this? I know how strong and brave you are, but can you be strong and brave for Blaine for a while?"

Kurt sat straight, looking defiantly forward, head held high even though tears were still streaming down his face.

"Yes, I can."

* * *

><p>They drove in silence the rest of the way. The sun was low when they got to Lima. Burt spoke cautiously.<p>

"He's still in shock, scared and shattered right now, Kurt. It's not even been a day, he hasn't processed it fully yet. He may get angry or shut himself in. He may push you away. He will probably flinch at any closeness. Sometimes you may not recognize him as the boy you know. But… just be there for him. Don't push, don't ask, don't take it personally. Allow him some space if he wants it. And if it gets too hard at any moment, just come to me, okay?"

Kurt nodded.

"Thank you, dad. For everything."

They were in the driveway now and he was through the front door in a heartbeat, hugging Carole briefly and sprinting upstairs, heart lodged in his throat.

Blaine was asleep, which was a really good thing, because Kurt wouldn't want to freak him out with his gasp, his tears, the expression of horror he must have had on his face before he had the chance to compose himself. He didn't know what he expected, but the sight of his friend's pale, bruised face on his pillow, looking so young and vulnerable, was like a stab to the gut. Kurt wiped his eyes, took a deep steadying breath and went in. He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to jiggle it, but he must have, because Blaine was stirring now, his face contorting in panic even as he slept on. He tossed his curly head and whimpered.

"Shhh, it's just me, Blaine. It's okay, shh."

Amber eyes snapped open and there was such a flood of relief in them that Kurt felt his breath catch. Any lingering doubts he had that his friend really wanted him here, even after their recent disagreements, dissolved under this one look.

"Kurt. You're here."

"I'm here. Sorry I woke you."

"I'm not. Not the best dreams ever. I've slept most of the day anyway."

"How are you?"

"I've been better. Kurt… these last days… I'm sorry. I was such an idiot."

"It's okay. I've missed my friend though."

"Yeah, me too." And just like that, they were good again.

There were footsteps on the stairs and Burt came in with Kurt's things.

"Hi, kid. You all right? Need help going to the bathroom or something?"

Blaine blushed a little.

"No, thanks. I can get up by myself. Still a bit shaky, but I manage." As if to prove it, he sat up slowly, wincing in pain, then raised to his feet unsteadily. Kurt's first instinct was to help, but he stopped himself; he knew what it was like, trying to hold on to any shred of dignity you had left in a tough situation. So he just smiled and went to unpack his bag.

* * *

><p>When Blaine came back from the bathroom – and why was it such an effort, why did he still feel so weak and shaky when there was no physical reason for it? – Carole brought home-made pizza upstairs and they all ate it together in Kurt's room, chatting about silly things. By silent agreement, they ignored the most obvious topic and it felt good. Blaine could feel just a sliver of calm settling in his chest. The world was still whirling sickeningly around him, but at least now there was something – someone – safe and constant and familiar there, like a homing beacon, like a lighthouse, to keep him from getting lost completely. There were things he could do, think about, talk about other than the smoldering ruin of his life.<p>

"Okay, I think it's time for some light entertainment, don't you? How about a Disney marathon?" Kurt asked after his parents went downstairs. He was already shuffling through his DVD collection.

"I'm all for it." He didn't really feel like talking anymore and he could use some distraction from thoughts of (_mouth hands teeth pain fear shame guilt_) reality that kept creeping on him.

They settled on the bed and Kurt's presence just a foot away was calming and safe, and he smelled like Kurt and his voice humming with the music every now and then was melodic and clear, and his hand was there and didn't move, just squeezed lightly, when Blaine grabbed it like a lifeline it was, and he didn't even know when he drifted off into peaceful sleep.

* * *

><p>When Burt came in to tell Kurt that Finn's bed was ready, both boys were asleep, the movie still on. Blaine was holding his son's hand and for once he didn't look like he was reliving horrors in his dreams. Burt sighed, covered the kids with a blanket, turned off the TV, switched off the lights and went to bed. It had been a long, hard day.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>So, Kurt Hummel's back at home! This is one of my favorite chapters, I hope you liked it too. Please let me know!<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **This story keeps expanding as characters I don't remember inviting here just pop in and get settled (no, not in this chapter yet). It was supposed to be 8 chapters, now it will most probably be 9 plus an epilogue.

The songs used here are _Keep holding on_ and _Pure imagination_.

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><p>CHAPTER 6<p>

Blaine woke up late the next day and the first thing he saw in the morning sun was a pair of bright eyes, grey with a hint of blue, smiling at him. He had just enough time to think that these were the most beautiful eyes in the world, and how come he hadn't seen it up till now, before his stupid brain decided to wake up and provide him with the exact reason for Kurt's being here, complete with audiovisual prompts. He saw his friend's face grow serious, then worried, then terrified, and wanted to ask what was wrong, but somehow couldn't get the words out through a weird haze creeping in on him. He heard the familiar voice plead "Blaine, you've got to breathe, please, it's all right, just breathe", then in the blackness that surrounded him now there was a choked "No, you can't do this now, breathe damn it!" and there were arms gathering him, pulling him up to a warm, solid chest and the touch was good, so different from the memories. Someone was holding him, rocking him gently and speaking softly, and even though it hurt his shoulder, it was amazing, because it meant that he survived, that the pictures in his head were just that, pictures from the past, and couldn't really touch him. The weight that had been settling heavier and heavier on his chest lifted now, the darkness was dissipating. There were tears in Kurt's eyes when Blaine blinked and looked up.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again, Blaine Anderson. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry. What did I do?"

"You stopped breathing, dummy. For a minute, if not more. I thought you were dying." Kurt's hands were shaking hard when he pulled away. Blaine could barely contain a groan of disappointment at the loss of contact, but it was understandable, of course. "I was _so_ scared!"

"I'm sorry. I just… remembered. I panicked."

Kurt squeezed his hand. "How do you feel?"

"Better. But I could kill for a shower."

"Will you be able to go by yourself?" There was a blush on his friend's cheeks.

"I think so."

"Good. I'll leave you toiletries, towels and some clean clothes on the counter then." Kurt went to the bathroom and came out a minute later. "I'll be right here, call if you need me."

Blaine got up and stretched stiffly. Apparently the long sleep did him good, for he was feeling much stronger than the day before, the weariness and shaking almost entirely gone. But memories of the assault left him feeling itchy, sticky, disgusting. The shower was a blessing. He scrubbed his skin under the spray of scalding water until it was lobster red, trying to wash off every last remainder of the unwanted touch. Afterwards, he even managed to get dressed without hurting his shoulder further or embarrassing Kurt with requests for help. Now that would have been awkward… He didn't dare to look in the mirror though – it meant he wasn't able to shave, but the thought of looking at himself made him slightly nauseous. When he went out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, the bed was made and Kurt smiled at him over a book he was reading.

"Hello, sunshine." Blaine seriously doubted he had _anything_ in common with such a cheerful thing these days, but the endearment warmed his heart. "Coffee and blueberry muffins, how does that sound?"

"Heavenly," he lied. He was feeling sick, but he didn't want to be any trouble or worry his friend.

"Good, because that's what we're having for breakfast. I'll go and bring it up here."

"Maybe… I can go with you? I'm not being a very good guest, sitting up here all the time."

"Are you ready to conquer stairs? _Both_ ways? Because I'm not carrying you up later. Besides, there's no one there anyway. Dad and Carole had this Sunday out of town brunch date planned for weeks. They said they'd cancel, but I promised I'd take good care of you in their absence." Another spread of warmth shot through Blaine's chest. "Carole prepared lunch for us, so you won't be subjected to my cooking just yet, and they will be back by three. Oh, and dad said that if you're strong enough, he'll take you home to get some of your things."

Blaine was glad that Kurt went downstairs after that and couldn't see the tears in his eyes. There was an ocean of emotions swelling deep within him that he wasn't ready to let go of just yet. But the thought that this family just took him in, took care of him, _kept_ taking care of him, simply because he was hurt, scared and alone, and just needed it – it moved him deeply. He never knew someone could care for him just because, not due to family obligations or his good grades, talents, charm or whatnot. And this way of caring – just accepting him, being there for him, not pushing, not lecturing, not asking for anything, but being ready to talk or sit in silence with him – it was new too.

It seemed wrong, but he felt more loved and cared for here than he had ever felt in his own home. If his parents weren't in Europe, he would sit alone all the time anyway. They would look in on him in the evenings, after their long office hours and business dinners, to ask if he needed anything and maybe (in his father's case) deliver one of their patented "That's what you get for being gay" speeches. They would strongly discourage reporting his… attack – "You don't need this kind of shameful thing in your records", they would insist, meaning "We don't want people to know what you are". And what did Burt Hummel say? "_It's not your fault_", "_You didn't deserve it_", "_He has to be arrested and punished_".

He could hear Kurt singing in the kitchen now. He did it all the time, always singing or humming while his hands were busy doing something that didn't require his full attention. Blaine had a feeling that half the time Kurt wasn't even aware of it. He stood in the doorway to listen. The song sounded familiar and when he recognized it, his chest tightened with affection. The boy downstairs sang quietly enough that Blaine knew it wasn't something chosen specifically for him to hear, and that moved him even more, because it meant that even when Kurt was alone, he kept thinking and worrying about him. The clear voice was flowing over the clinking of plates and gurgling of the coffee-maker:

_You're not alone_

_Together we stand_

_I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand_

_When it gets cold_

_And it feels like the end_

_There's no place to go_

_You know I won't give in_

_No I won't give in_

_Keep holding on_

_'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through_

_Just stay strong_

_'Cause you know I'm here for you, I'm here for you_

_There's nothing you could say_

_Nothing you could do_

_There's no other way when it comes to the truth_

_So keep holding on_

_'Cause you know we'll make it through, we'll make it through_

Light footsteps on the stairs made Blaine duck back into the bedroom and wipe his eyes quickly. Kurt was humming something he didn't recognize when he came in with a tray loaded with plates of food and two mugs of steaming coffee. And even though Blaine faked his enthusiasm for the idea of breakfast earlier, feeling nauseous, suddenly it all smelled delicious and tasted even better. He was sure it had a lot to do with the side-dish of beautiful, warm smiles it came with.

They spent Sunday just lazing about ("_it's what Sundays were made for, Blaine, apart from planning next week's outfits"_). They were watching the first three parts of Harry Potter, sprawled on the bed (Kurt let Blaine raid his DVD collection and choose the movies, obviously), they were talking about the usual (safe, easy, non-life-altering) stuff or just sitting in comfortable silence while Kurt's iPod played on shuffle in the background. Most of the time Blaine felt almost fine. But there were moments when he lost control over his thoughts and snapped back to the horror of that stuffy little dorm room, panic stealing his breath. There were minutes when he wanted to find a wire brush and scrub at his skin where he could still feel Eric's hands and lips. Several times there were seconds when he wanted to just _not be_. And every time it happened, Kurt just started talking about something, anything, or humming under his breath, providing distraction, a way back to reality, to safety.

All Blaine wanted was to stop thinking about that night, to forget it happened, to erase it from his memory forever. To be _normal_ again. He wanted someone to _obliviate_ him. There was just this slight problem that nobody could.

They ate dinner downstairs that evening, with Kurt's parents, and afterwards Blaine felt well enough to accept Mr. Hummel's offer to go get his things. His shoulder protested during the car ride but having his own clothes and stuff was well worth it. By the time he went to bed that night, he was exhausted. Kurt went to Finn's room after making sure his friend had everything he needed and Blaine fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

><p>Kurt knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep for hours. He just needed to cry it all out. Actually, what he really needed was a place where he could scream and howl until his throat was raw, and preferably punch things. A lot. But there was no such place, so he just sobbed into Finn's pillow, leaving music quietly on to muffle the desperate noises he was making.<p>

He'd managed to appear calm and collected since he came home the day before (well, apart from that short panic attack he allowed himself when he was certain Blaine was in the shower), because he knew it wasn't him and his feelings that mattered right then. He needed to be there – and strong – for his friend, who was oh-so-much more than a friend and that made it infinitely worse. But now he was alone and all the images and emotions from the past 30 hours assaulted him, and he just lost it for a while.

All day he watched Blaine discreetly and noticed everything – the way his smile never reached his eyes anymore. The bruises on his wrists and the way he bothered his cut lower lip with his teeth. The pain in his beautiful eyes as he got lost in thought every now and then. The annoyance when he had to take the painkillers for his shoulder. Hands clenching so tight sometimes that there were purple crescents where fingernails dug in afterwards. The feeling that he'd just given up on himself.

Kurt wanted, more than anything, to just go back to his room, take Blaine in his arms and hold him all night, speaking softly about the world not being all bad, about how perfect Blaine was to him, how he would be there for him no matter what, how much he cared. To tell him that he would never – _ever – _give up on Blaine. But he couldn't do that, could he?

He was unable to fix it all for his friend and it was killing him. He hated the man that did it to him with such force it scared him. He felt guilty, like he could have done more to prevent it – but could he really? The pillow was all wet when he finally managed to fall asleep, only to wake up with a start after what felt like minutes.

Something was wrong.

Then he heard it again, a high whimpering sound. _No no no don't touch me. Please don't touch me. I don't want to. No._

He was up in a heartbeat, on the way to his bedroom across the hall in another. He passed his dad in the doorway.

"I've got it," he whispered and the older man nodded and leaned against the door, deep sadness in his eyes.

Kurt sat on the bed where Blaine was thrashing, careful not to touch him.

"Blaine, it's me. It's Kurt. You're safe. Wake up, you're safe, I'm here."

Blaine's hand shot out and grabbed his, pulling him forcefully down on the bed. His amber eyes opened, the look of utter horror slowly dissipating.

"Kurt," he sounded half-asleep still.

"I'm here."

"Please don't leave me."

"I won't, I promise." He laid down by the other boy, his hand still squeezed in a death grip.

"Can you… Could you hold me for a while? And sing? Your voice calms me down."

It required a bit of rearrangement, but then they were facing each other, Kurt's arms carefully embracing Blaine, who cuddled closer and hid his face on his friend's chest.

* * *

><p>Burt stood in the doorway, amazed. He knew how much trouble with physical contact Blaine had right now – mere hours ago he gasped and jerked away violently when Carole patted his hand during dinner. He tolerated Burt's touch, but wasn't really comfortable with it. Yet with Kurt it was a completely different matter – not only was Blaine fine with it, he actually reached out to take his hand, asked to be held. It was a testament to the amount of trust and comfort between these two.<p>

He smiled at the boys and went back to bed, leaving them to sleep together yet again. Their doing anything inappropriate was not on his list of things to worry about today.

* * *

><p>Kurt sung quietly, sweetly:<p>

_Come with me and you'll be in a world of pure imagination_

_Take a look and you'll see into your imagination_

_We'll begin with a spin traveling in a world of my creation_

_What we'll see will defy explanation_

Blaine was asleep before the song ended. Kurt lay awake until morning, guarding his dreams.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for all your reviews – I cherish each and every one of them, so if you like (or dislike, or generally have an opinion about) what you've read, please drop me a quick line :) I'd appreciate it.<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thank you so much for your amazing reviews!

This is a short chapter. It was a part of a longer one, but I think they work better separately.

In my head!canon, Carole is a nurse – I have no idea why, because I was certain I knew this from season 1, yet couldn't find any mention of her occupation when I was looking for it recently. Still, let's assume she is for the sake of this story :)

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 7<p>

In the morning, Blaine's first thought was that he would be perfectly happy to wake up like that, in Kurt's arms, every day of his life. Then he remembered that he can't.

He was tainted, broken – he would never be able to be in a relationship, to make anyone happy. To have meaningless sex – maybe, some day. Eric told him he was a perfect little slut, right? But actual loving relationship? No way. Nobody would be able to love him after… what happened. After the attack. Oh for god's sake! After the rape. He was raped and it made him worthless. There, he said it. Denying it didn't make it any less true, did it? He may as well just admit it.

It was as if a tiny switch shifted in his brain. Where yesterday there was only fear, panic and denial, now anger was simmering slowly to a boil. He was furious at this bastard for ruining his life, for taking everything – his chances of love, of meaningful relationships, of every beautiful first time, his innocence, his joy and optimism, and trust in the world. He was mad at himself for being so stupid, so naïve, for not listening to Kurt. He was angry at the world in general, at his parents for not being there for him, at the bouncer at the club for letting him in, at Eric's roommate for not being there that night.

His mother couldn't have chosen a worse moment to call if she tried.

"Hi mom."

"Hello, Blaine. I just wanted to let you know we're in France already. The flight was terrible, you wouldn't believe! It was two hours late and don't even get me started on the flight attendant, what an incompetent girl! Anyway, do you want anything particular from Paris?"

He ground his teeth so hard it hurt.

"Mom? Mr. Hummel told you two days ago that I was attacked and you are just calling me now, and your first question is if I want anything from Paris?" He dimly realized that his voice was rising by the end of the sentence. He could see Kurt scrambling out of bed quickly, his eyes wide, and gesturing towards the door before he went out, closing it behind him. He felt his anger turning to rage. He didn't care.

* * *

><p>Kurt almost flew out of the bedroom in his haste to leave, not sure if it was more to give Blaine privacy to talk to his mom or because he hardly recognized this boy in his bed, seething with anger, eyes flashing, and it scared him. Fortunately, he'd left a pair of jeans and a matching shirt in the laundry room after ironing – it wasn't a perfect outfit, but it would do. He took his time with his morning routine before carefully opening the door to his room. There was no more yelling, so he assumed it would be safe to come in. He was wrong.<p>

"Um, hi. Everything alright?"

"No." His friend was sitting cross-legged on the bed, playing with his phone.

"Oh." He didn't know what more to say. Blaine radiated hostility. He'd never felt so uncomfortable in his presence before.

"My own mother doesn't fucking care if I live or die."

"Oh Blaine, I'm sure…"

"Don't, Kurt. You don't know _anything_. Just… leave me alone, all right?" There was an edge to the other boy's voice, a tension of barely held patience.

"But…"

"Get the fuck out!" Blaine's phone shattered against the wall beside him. It was far enough that Kurt was _almost _sure it wasn't directed right at him, but it still scared him witless. He's never seen Blaine – the most charming, dapper and composed person he knew – like this. He had no idea what to do. So he ran.

* * *

><p>The second the door shut behind Kurt, Blaine felt like the worst bastard in the world. This look of fear in his friend's eyes… It broke his heart. And <em>he<em> was the one that put it there. He just kept destroying everything around him, didn't he? Maybe he should just leave before he destroyed anything else? Go somewhere… anywhere. He didn't care, as long as everyone he knew was safe from his toxic influence. Yes, he would go… as soon as he's able to move.

He curled into a tight little ball in the middle of the bed, willing himself to stop existing. When Carole came in hours later, he was still in the same position.

"Is it safe to enter now or are there any other missiles flying?" she asked cautiously.

Blaine hid his face in the blankets, ashamed. Of course everyone would hear, he wasn't exactly quiet.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Is Kurt alright?"

"Just shaken. He went to the garage to help his dad, said he needed some space for a while. They'll be back for dinner."

"I've lost him, haven't I?"

"No, I don't think so, Kurt's tougher than that. One fight won't make him run for the hills. Just… talk to him later. Otherwise he'll blame himself."

"_Himself_? No, it was all me!"

"I'm just saying - that's what he'll think. So, do you want to talk? About earlier? People say I'm quite good at listening."

"Thanks, but… not really. Not yet."

"Okay. How about going downstairs for late lunch and helping me with dinner afterwards? You could spend some of this anger chopping vegetables." Her smile could only be described as motherly.

He went and helped as much as he could with only one arm fully functional. They didn't talk much, but there was a feeling of comfortable domesticity that soothed Blaine's nerves. Afterwards, they sat down with coffee and freshly baked cookies, and before he knew it, he was engaged in a lively conversation, telling Carole all about his passions and school and the Warblers. By the time Kurt and his dad came back, Blaine felt like they'd been friends forever and he was amazed at how much better he felt.

* * *

><p>Blaine expected dinner to be uncomfortable after what happened in the morning, but it wasn't. Kurt was cautious around him and talked less than usual, and Mr. Hummel looked worried, but everyone made him feel just as welcome and accepted as ever. He approached his friend as soon as he could get him alone.<p>

"Kurt, I'm _so_ sorry. I don't know what got into me. It just… my mom's call…"

"It's fine. I understand."

"You do?"

"Yes. I talked to dad and I know it happens sometimes. I'll listen next time you tell me you need to be alone, okay? Just try not to kill me with flying objects." Kurt was actually _smiling_, even if it was a bit hesitant. Maybe they'd be fine after all.

"I'm so sorry…"

"I said it's fine."

* * *

><p>After a relaxed evening playing board games with the whole family, Blaine started dreading the night and the dreams that would inevitably come, vivid and detailed to a fault. The last nightmare was still fresh in his mind. He considered not going to bed at all, but at this point his shoulder was pretty much killing him and he knew he wouldn't be able to sit up all night. He hated to bother Kurt again, especially after the morning outburst, and cursed himself for being so weak, so dependent. But as bedtime approached, he was quickly losing control over his fears. Finally, he swallowed his pride.<p>

"Kurt," he stopped his friend, who has just come to say goodnight, already in his night clothes. He looked exhausted. "Could you… stay? Sleep here?"

"I… wait." Kurt disappeared in the hall and after a minute of quiet conversation with his dad came back smiling. "Fine, but I'm taking a quilt. You are such a blanket hog!"

"Am not!"

"Are too. I was freezing last night."

Blaine fell asleep snuggled closely to Kurt's chest again, listening to his strong heartbeat and his sweet voice humming softly song after song to keep nightmares at bay. It worked like a charm.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

On Tuesday Carole insisted on looking at Blaine's injuries to check if they were healing properly. They were. After she left the bathroom, he decided to just bite the bullet and finally look in the mirror. He couldn't avoid it forever, could he?

It was bad. He'd seen the bruises on his wrists and the long red lines of scraped skin down his sides when he was showering before. He could even look at them without flashbacks now. But the bite marks covering his back in a mosaic of angry red cuts and purple bruises were the worst by far. One look and he gagged, and had to duck for the toilet immediately, as memories assaulted him with renewed force. It took him ten minutes of kneeling on the cold tiled floor before his breathing slowed down and he was sure he wouldn't throw up anymore. He didn't risk another look though. The marks would heal eventually, the bruises fade. He could easily avoid seeing his back until that happened. Or maybe ever. Right now he would do something to stop looking like he'd just stepped out of wilderness.

After he shaved the scruff of four days and tamed his curls somewhat, he felt a bit more like himself, and even his black eye looked less menacing.

There was a gasp when he came back to his temporary bedroom, still shirtless. Kurt must have returned from a grocery run in the meantime, and was staring at his back now, face stricken. Blaine pulled his T-shirt on as quickly as his restricted movements allowed. He knew exactly what Kurt saw and understood his reaction all too well, but it didn't make it any easier to bear.

"Yeah, I know, I'm repulsive."

"What? No!"

"Oh come on, I've seen this look on your face. You're disgusted." The anger was coming back and he really shouldn't direct it at Kurt of all people, not again…

"Of course I am. By what this bastard did to you. I could never be disgusted _by_ _you_!"

"Oh really?" … too late, he was yelling now. "What if I told you how I let him kiss me, touch me, how I even liked it at first, huh? What if I described how he handcuffed me to the bed and then bit me, scratched me, leaving those marks? How he was everywhere, on me, _in_ me, what if I told you he _raped_ me, Kurt? Would you be so accepting if you knew that?"

Kurt was white as a sheet at this point and his hands shook violently, but there was no shock on his face, no revulsion or discomfort that Blaine expected. Instead he saw raw pain in his friend's eyes and tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Blaine, I _do_ know that."

"What?" Okay, that was a surprise. And now that he thought about it, it really shouldn't be. It was pretty obvious Mr. Hummel would have told his son what happened before he came home. He had to explain it all, had to prepare him. Maybe Blaine should be angry about it – it wasn't Burt's secret to tell, after all – but he just felt insanely relieved instead. No more secrets. It was done, Kurt knew. Why did he never even consider that he might have? Well… Kurt still acted so normal about him, didn't he? He didn't shy away, didn't hesitate to touch him, hold him, never even looked at him funny. He wasn't _that _good an actor to be able to hide it all this time if he was repulsed by him. Did it mean… he wasn't? But how could he_ not_ be? Blaine's voice broke when he asked, "You… you know?"

"Dad told me. I've known ever since I came back. No details, but I've known. And does this feel like I'm disgusted?" Kurt came close, so close, and without the slightest hesitation enveloped Blaine in a careful but tight hug. "I am so, _so_ sorry it happened to you. So freaking sorry I couldn't prevent it somehow."

"You tried," he smiled sadly. "I was just too stupid to listen."

He hid his face on his friend's shoulder and let himself be held as a wave of grief hit him. Why hadn't he dated Kurt instead of Eric? He'd been attracted to this beautiful boy ever since he first met him. Why had he never acted on it? He knew Kurt used to have feelings for him. They could have been together and it would be perfect. Why hasn't he realized it sooner? None of this would have happened if he decided to trust his instinct instead of playing the friendship card and looking for… what exactly? Drama, most likely... Well, he'd found it, didn't he? Jeremiah, Rachel, then Eric. Now all hope was lost. He could only take these precious moments of closeness he was given and save them in his heart forever.

* * *

><p>Once the dreaded r-word was out in the open, they were both relieved to be able to talk more freely, without avoiding the obvious topics and feeling like walking on eggshells around each other. Blaine told Kurt about the two days when they were apart and how Eric had convinced him that it would be better to stay away from the other boy's "obvious jealousy", at least until they got to know each other better.<p>

"He said he was afraid you'd split us up. He was probably setting the trap already. You might have forced me to open my eyes if we talked."

"I wish I did."

* * *

><p>Kurt in turn confessed that he cried in the shower every day because he couldn't stand his helplessness, that seeing his friend's pain and not being able to fix it for him was breaking his heart. Blaine was stunned.<p>

"But you _do_ help me, Kurt, every moment of every day! You help me _so much_. I don't know what I would do without you here. You are… You are my safe person, you know? I feel calmer when I see you. Your voice has this incredible power of quieting all my thoughts and reaching to me even through my worst nightmares. I pretty much can't stand anyone's touch right now… but yours. It's like you're the only constant in my life. Everything has changed but you are still here, you care and I trust you, and I know you would never hurt me. Hey, why are you crying?"

"Just… Thank you."

* * *

><p>They were sitting on the living room sofa that afternoon, eating ice-cream.<p>

"You know… I think it's all my fault."

"What?"

"The rape. I feel like it's my own fault."

"You can't be serious."

"I flirted with him, Kurt. I went to the club with an older guy and did my best to look amazing. I turned the charm on full force. I let him get me alcohol. I went with him to his empty dorm room in the middle of the night for god's sake, what did I expect? Snuggles? I basically asked for it, right?"

"Oh come on! You probably wanted romance and not much more at this point, didn't you? And you had every right to expect and allow just that. You had the right to flirt and charm. You are charming by nature, Blaine, you flirted with _me_ more than once – it doesn't mean you invited me to… to jump you or something."

"Well, but that's different. We weren't on a date."

But it was not Kurt who answered this time.

"It doesn't change anything."

They looked up, startled. Carole was standing in the doorway, still in her nurse uniform, the look on her face apologetic, but determined.

"Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear." She came in and sat in the armchair facing the boys. "Blaine, being on a date doesn't automatically mean permission for sex. Have you ever heard the term _date rape_? We are taught to recognize it in the hospital, because it happens more often than you would think and the victims usually don't report it, because they are told they _asked for it_ – with their clothes or their actions, or supposedly just by going out with somebody. But let me tell you something, son. You _didn't_ ask for it. Not unless you actually allowed the man to do every single thing he did to you. Not unless you never tried to stop him at any point. If you said _no_ and he didn't stop, it's rape, plain and simple. _None of it_ is your fault. He probably told you it is, right?"

"He called me a… a cocktease."

Carole snorted a humorless laugh.

"Haven't I heard this one before. Rapists often say things like that. '_You wanted it_'. '_You flirted with me_'. '_It's your fault if you dressed like a whore_'. '_You asked for it_'. You know why? They are trying to transfer the blame this way. Rape survivors all too often believe it's their own fault, that they somehow deserved it, brought it on themselves. Usually, if they don't find help immediately, they end up not reporting the rape and hating themselves for years afterwards for something that was done _to them_. That's why we are taught to recognize such patients – to help them deal with it. Blaine," Carole leaned and carefully took his hand. He didn't withdraw it this time. "You need to report it. You need counseling to come to terms with what happened and deal with consequences. But most of all, you need to believe me when I say it was NOT your fault, you didn't deserve it, you didn't ask for it. You are _not_ the one to blame for this, do you understand? Think about it – if it was Kurt that was in your exact situation, would you blame him? Would you think it was his fault?"

Blaine spluttered. "Of course not!"

"See? The _exact same_ situation. You are a great kid, Blaine – handsome, charismatic, smart, passionate, talented – you were like that before last Friday and you still are, nothing changed in that regard. You are not a worse person because you were raped. And there are people here who really, really care about you and want to help you any way we can."

Kurt was nodding vigorously next to him and suddenly it was too much for Blaine to hold in. And when tears started, there seemed to be no end to them. Evening found him still on the sofa, hidden in Kurt's arms, eyes red and swollen, throat raw from sobbing, but heart much lighter.

* * *

><p><strong>This was an important chapter, comfort-wise. I hope you liked it.<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** The song used here is _Not Alone_ by Darren Criss.

There may be fluff ahead. Sort of. Proceed with caution.

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 9<p>

"You know what's the worst part?"

It was Wednesday afternoon and the boys were sitting on Kurt's bed, talking. They were home alone – Burt and Carole went to get Finn from Columbus and would stay there for dinner.

"No?" Kurt cocked an eyebrow. There were no _good_ parts in what happened to Blaine; which would be the worst?

"I think that even if I ever get over this feeling like I'm worthless and faulty and ruined, I'll never be able to be in a real relationship anyway."

"Oh?"

"How am I supposed to ever be with someone when I flinch at every touch? Okay, maybe I'll get over it. But I had all the first times taken from me in a most fucked up way. I can't think about sex, about anything physical really, without feeling like I'm going to puke. I won't even be able to _kiss_ anyone without remembering this first kiss and everything that happened afterwards. I won't let anyone _hold me_, because I feel trapped. I'm screwed."

"You let _me _hold you."

"Yeah, well, that's different. It's you."

_Is it because I'm your safe person or because you see me as completely asexual? Or both? _was on the tip of Kurt's tongue, but he bit it as a thought popped into his head. What Blaine just said… It could be helpful. Or completely crazy. But…

He hesitated just a second.

"I have an idea, but it might be terrible, so you have to tell me honestly what you think." Blaine nodded. "You trust me, right?"

"Completely."

"So, I thought… I could kiss you. You know, as a friend," he added hastily and damn, why did he always blush so easily? "Just to, you know, try and replace that memory in your head with something hopefully less… traumatic and more, I don't know, neutral?" he finished barely audibly, already regretting this sudden impulsiveness. Of course it was a horrible idea, what was he thinking?

Silence stretched uncomfortably. Kurt couldn't look at the boy next to him. He fought the urge to just run out and hide in the bathroom. Has he really just offered to kiss his _friend_, whom he was _in love with_, days after he was _sexually assaulted_? Talk about the worst idea ever. He'd be lucky if Blaine didn't lose all faith in him after that.

"You… you would do that?" The voice was low and rough.

"I'm sorry, you're right, it was a really bad idea. Just… forget I said anything, okay?"

He dared a glance at his friend, mostly to assess the damage, and was startled by the look of… _hope_? incredulity? on Blaine's face.

"Actually…" the amber eyes kept his, voice trembling a little, "I think that could work."

Kurt's eyes widened. He didn't give himself time to hesitate, just moved closer to the other boy, until he was sitting cross-legged right by his side. Slowly, very slowly, giving Blaine plenty of time to stop him, he leaned closer.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," the answer was breathless, barely audible.

Kurt closed the distance and gently, lovingly pressed his lips to Blaine's. His heart was hammering in his chest, he felt lightheaded. This was what he wanted to do for months now. And yet the circumstances couldn't be more different from what he imagined… _He's just a friend. It's just a favor to a friend. Nothing more_, he kept reminding himself, even as he soaked the warmth and perfection of his first (and most probably last) kiss with Blaine.

* * *

><p>Blaine's breath hitched and for a second panic seized him as his mind was flooded with the memories of wet, hot lips crushing his own, tongue invading his mouth aggressively, taste of cigarettes, wandering fingers gripping, violating. But then a gentle, warm hand touched his cheek, grounding him to reality of this bright, airy room, this beautiful boy who somehow came to impersonate everything that was safe and good and right in the world. And Kurt was kissing him slowly, oh so tenderly with soft lips that tasted like peppermint and chapstick and just a hint of chocolate they ate earlier. And there was no pressure there, no confusion, it wasn't hurried or lustful or <em>wrong<em>. This kiss wasn't taken from him, it was given, offered with affection and care. He felt warm and calm all over and he found himself returning the kiss, just as chaste, pure and innocent as it was. They stayed like that for a moment longer before they parted, both breathless and a little dazed. They looked at each other and the silence was comfortable as they both processed what just happened. Blaine spoke first, seeing apprehension and a hint of anxiety stealing into Kurt's eyes.

"Kurt… that was perfect. That's how I always imagined my first kiss, exactly as it should have been. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And thank _you_."

"What for?"

"It was my first proper kiss too, remember?"

Blaine's eyes widened. Right, how could he forget he wasn't the only one with bad memories here!

"Oh no! Kurt, you shouldn't have wasted it on me. It should be special for you."

"It was. Now, do you want coffee? I feel like getting myself a latte."

* * *

><p>Finn felt full and lazy after the big family dinner. His aunt Marsha was an amazing cook and tonight she prepared all his favorites as a goodbye treat for her only nephew. He was looking forward to a nap in the car on the way home. Just as he finished settling comfortably in the back seat and closed his eyes, his mom broke the silence.<p>

"Honey, no sleeping. We need to tell you something so that you know what to expect when we get home."

Finn groaned. "You didn't let Kurt paint my room, did you? Because I _told_ him lilac is a flower, not a color, and I like my walls the way they are."

"No. But we have a guest and it's important for you to know several things."

* * *

><p>"Well, that went well."<p>

"I'm sure he'll come around. He's just confused."

"What is there to be confused about? It's all plain and simple, just a few easy rules. And it's not really the best moment for that."

"He'll be fine by morning, I'm sure. You know that he can be a bit slow with emotional stuff sometimes. He just needs to sleep on it."

"What if he still doesn't get there tomorrow?"

"Then I'll talk to him alone. For now, let's just go home."

Burt and Carole were sitting in a car parked in front of Noah Puckermann's house, where Finn asked to be taken for a sleepover. After a short, uncomfortable conversation about Blaine at the beginning of their drive and long, uncomfortable silence the rest of the way, it was almost a relief when he got out of the car and stalked down the drive.

"I don't know if I can do this," Finn said earlier. "It will be all weird and uncomfortable. How am I supposed to talk to him now that I know? I'll say something stupid or look at him funny, or forget and touch him and he'll be all freaked out and Kurt will bite my head off. Maybe I should just stay with Puck as long as Blaine's there."

Sighing heavily, Burt started the car. And here he thought convincing Blaine that Finn needed to know what happened would be the most difficult part.

* * *

><p>"Blaine? Are you awake?"<p>

Silence. Deep regular breaths. Kurt gently removed his hand from the other boy's grip and slumped against the headboard where he was sitting for the last half hour, singing softly. He sighed. As much as he cherished these moments – falling asleep with Blaine cuddled by his side, singing to him, spending all their time together – he knew he was just opening himself to another heartbreak. Blaine saw him as a friend – best friend, but still. Sometime soon he would heal, body and soul, and then one day there would be some other boy to sweep him off his feet. And the kiss they shared made Kurt realize that he wouldn't be able to take it anymore. He was falling too deep. He had to get over Blaine. Be the best friend, _love_ him as a friend – that would never change – but stop thinking romantically about him. Maybe one day love someone else. And he had to start now, before it was too late – if it wasn't already.

But first, there was a song he really wanted to sing to Blaine these last couple of days and couldn't, it was too revealing. So let it be his sort-of-goodbye song. Blaine wouldn't remember it, but maybe, just maybe the message would stay somewhere deep in his subconscious, giving him strength when he needed it. He let his fingers trace along Blaine's strong jaw, tangled them gently in his hair like he always wanted to. Just this once. He took in the picture of this gorgeous boy sleeping peacefully in his bed, etched it into his brain forever, closed his eyes and began to sing, right from his heart.

_I've been alone, surrounded by darkness_

_I know how heartless the world can be_

_I've seen you crying, you felt like it's hopeless_

_I'll always do my best to make you see_

_Baby you're not alone 'cause you're here with me_

_And nothing's ever gonna bring us down_

'_Cause nothing can keep me from loving you_

_And you know it's true_

_It don't matter what will come to be_

_Our love is all we need to make it through_

Immersed in music and emotions, he didn't see the amber eyes open in the darkness, take him in, widen as he sang on. He finished the song and almost fell off the bed when he felt a warm hand on his arm and heard a breathless whisper, "Do you mean it?"

"Oh! Sorry, did I wake you? I thought you were asleep. Sorry."

"Kurt. Do you mean it?" Blaine was sitting by him now, face tense, clutching both his hands so tight it hurt.

"I… yeah. I do. But don't worry, I… it won't be a problem."

"Kurt."

"Yes."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"What do you think I'm saying?"

"I think… I had an impression you were saying that you… that you loved me? In spite of everything that happened? And that you wanted to be by me, _with_ me, no matter what comes next?"

"Yes," he whispered. A strangled sound Blaine produced made him feel terrible. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I thought you were asleep and I just really needed to sing this song right now. You weren't supposed to hear it."

"Why?"

"Because now you'll feel uncomfortable around me, thinking I'm mooning over you while you don't want me to be anything more than your friend, and it will ruin…"

"But I do."

"… our friendship and I can't… What?"

"I do want you to be more than my friend."

"But…"

"And I love you too." Now it was Kurt's turn to choke. "I've loved you for months. I just haven't realized that was it. You are the most important person in my life, my soulmate. I think about you all the time. I want to be close to you, spend time with you, I'm so goddamn attracted to you. I see you as my safe person. I thought it all just meant that you're a really close, really attractive friend, that it can't be love if it's so… easy, so natural, you know? Love was supposed to be drama and uncertainty and all these difficulties most couples around us go through, right? But now – it's like I can see clearly at last, what counts, what I feel."

Kurt was still afraid to believe his ears.

"How do you know it's not just a temporary response to the situation? You feel safe with me, so you think you love me?"

"No. It's not like I feel something new, you know? It's just something I've been feeling for a long time and now I finally understand what it is. What love is. Not what I felt for Jeremiah or… or Eric… or any of my crushes before. It's this. It's you. And it's real, and huge, and easy, and safe. It doesn't need drama or assurances. It just is."

Kurt slid down from his position by the headboard now and they laid facing each other, just holding hands.

"So I love you. And you love me. Where does it leave us?"

Blaine sounded torn. "I don't know. I don't think I can be your boyfriend, even if you wanted me. Being boyfriends means all the physical stuff and I… I can't. Not even with you. I don't know if I will ever be ready."

"Hey, don't even think about it now. I get it and it's okay. And… just so you know… I'm not exactly comfortable about certain things either."

"Yeah? How come?"

"Yeah. I just… Truth be told, I don't know the first thing about sex. I like romance. That's why I like Broadway musicals, because the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets. I don't need more, Blaine. So if it's the only thing worrying you about it, about us… then you have nothing to worry about."

"The touch of the fingertips? Well, that much I can do," Blaine smiled. "But surely one day…"

"I would never, _ever_, push you to do anything. But I don't really care about labels, you know, unless they are attached to clothes. We don't need to figure it out now, a name for it, or a definition. Just know that I'm here."

There was no kissing that night, no promises. It was nothing like the movies. They just fell asleep, holding each other, just like the nights before. But there was something new in both their hearts that night, something small that changed so much. _Hope_.

* * *

><p><strong>There it is. The second of my two favorite chapters. What do you think? I'd love to know :)<strong>

**Oh, and it may be two or three days before I upload the last chapter, and then just as long before the epilogue – there was some sort of riot apparently, some characters appeared, demanding to be included, and now I have to basically write it from scratch.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** The last chapter. **There will be an epilogue up tomorrow**, but the boys won't appear there in person, so say your goodbyes here.

There are a couple of hints and plot seeds planted in this chapter that may get to be developed in a (possible-but-I'm-really-not-sure-talk-to-my-plot-bunny) sequel. We'll see.

* * *

><p>CHAPTER 10<p>

"Dude, not cool," Puck said after Finn finished recounting what his parents told him. It took two hours of Halo 3, a lot of prying and a promise not to tell anyone to get his friend talking about what bothered him.

"Yeah, I know, right? And now I have a problem."

"_You_ have a problem?"

"Well, yeah. Because what if I say something? Or do something wrong? Burt says we need to be a little sensitive around Blaine right now. But I'm not that good at sensitive, man. And Blaine is cool, I don't want to hurt him, you know? And Kurt will totally kill me if I do, he _likes_ this guy."

Puck brightened as he finally understood.

"Let me tell you, you came to the right man. I'll give you a crash course in after-rape sensitivity. One, don't touch. No handshakes, no backslapping, no nothing. Keep your distance and you'll be fine. Two, don't talk about it unless he wants to. Wait, on second thought, don't talk about it, period. If he wants to talk, just listen, nod your head and make a compassionate face expression. Or call Kurt. Three, other than one and two, act normal. Don't panic and don't look at him like he's got the plague. Talk about normal things and don't let him see you're weirded out. That's all. Remember these and you'll do great."

"Cool! Thanks, man. How come you know so much about it?"

He shrugged dismissively. "I know a girl. She wasn't really raped, but it was close. She needed someone to talk about it a couple of times. I was there." He remembered the countless hours spent sitting on the floor in his room, day after hot summer day last year, talking or just being silent together. The tears, the screams, the anger, the despair. Raw. Intense. Gut wrenching. He'll never forget. He'll never admit how much it shook him.

* * *

><p>Puck waited until Finn's loud snores confirmed he was finally and fully asleep before he pulled out his phone to write a quick text.<p>

"_Need to talk. My place, noon. Bring waffles_."

Then he scrolled through his contact list until he found this one name.

_Santana_.

* * *

><p>When Kurt opened his eyes on Thursday morning, he saw Blaine looking at him with such intensity he felt his insides twist a little. He blinked a couple of times.<p>

"Um, hi. What are you doing?"

"Watching you sleep." There was a smile in Blaine's voice, something that Kurt didn't hear nearly enough lately. "I woke up an hour ago and I've been lying here watching you ever since."

"Okay, creepy. Why?"

"You looked so peaceful. You smiled to your dreams, you know?"

"Yeah, I had a beautiful one." He smiled sadly at the memory. It was so realistic too…

"Me too. I dreamt you sang to me, an amazing song that I'll have to find and add to my iPod to listen to when I'm down and you're not by my side. And then you said you loved me. And I said I loved you too. And then I said I was afraid of physical stuff, and you said you liked romance and Broadway musicals and the touch of the fingertips. And…"

Kurt's mouth was wide open at this point and he didn't even care how undignified it had to look.

"It was not a dream."

"I know. I figured it out when you were sleeping."

"But… It was not a dream?"

Blaine laughed, the sound bright and happy and so amazing after these last dark days.

"It was not a dream." He confirmed, quickly leaning in and kissing Kurt's forehead before smoothing his fingers through his friend's hair. "I love you."

Kurt's breath hitched. As calm as he remembered being in his dream-that-was-not-a-dream, Kurt felt his eyes tear up now. This was huge. This was the first time a boy looked at him like this. The first time a boy touched him like this, just because he wanted to be close to him. The first time a boy said he loved him. And not just any boy. _Blaine_. Blaine, whom he…

"I love you too." He'd need time to process it all, because now he just wanted to squeal with delight and flail like a twelve year old girl, but that much he knew for certain. "We're…"

He wanted to say "in love", because it was unbelievable and he just needed to hear it, but Blaine finished it for him.

"… together. But without the sexual stuff. For now at least. Like friends with benefits, but the opposite."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up. "You've been thinking about it."

"Since I woke up. I want to be with you. You know, exclusively. I want to say it loud and clear. But… you know. Would it work for you?"

"It's perfect."

It really was. They could work through Blaine's trauma and his own insecurities and fears this way, without worrying that the other expected something more or forcing themselves to do more than they were ready for. Kurt couldn't wish for a better arrangement for now.

Impulsively, he hugged Blaine tightly before getting up and skipping to his closet to find the perfect outfit for this amazing day.

* * *

><p>By the time the two boys entered the kitchen, Burt had already been in the garage for two hours. Finn had come back from Puck's and was sitting at the table, finishing his breakfast. Carole glanced at them with a smile over the pan full of pancakes, then looked up again in surprise. There was something… different about them. Good different, she decided, assessing them covertly with an experienced mother's eye as they sat down across the table from Finn and started talking to him. It was an easy, relaxed conversation that seemed to reduce his tension considerably. Carole inwardly sighed with relief – her son had been so nervous about messing anything up here that it was almost painful to watch him. It seemed they would be alright after all.<p>

She continued the discreet observation of his step-son and their guest while setting the dishwasher. There wasn't much that escaped her attention. They were both smiling – real, honest smiles, not the ones they were both so adept at showing to the world to hide their hurt. Blaine's features were more relaxed than she'd seen them since his last visit before the assault. Kurt was wearing this red sweater he liked so much, and it usually meant he was in a really good mood. And the way they were sitting… Carole gasped, quietly enough not to draw their attention. There was barely any gap between their chairs, and their legs were almost touching under the table. It never happened before, they've always kept respectable distance between them.

It wasn't much to go on, but she was good at body language. She understood instantly that something must have happened, some kind of talk, an admission maybe?

She wasn't going to say anything yet, not to them, not even to her husband, but silently she wished them all the happiness in the world. Humming happily, she said her goodbyes and drove to work.

* * *

><p>Kurt's phone buzzed around one, as he was trying hard not to show he was totally daydreaming while Blaine and Finn discussed some kind of sports stuff. He wasn't even sure what it was anymore, he zoned out after two minutes and was just doing his best to look interested as he busied himself watching and cataloguing the things he loved about Blaine's face. The buzzing saved him from the increasing desire to count his boyfriend's (<em>breathe Kurt, breathe!<em>) eyelashes.

It was a text from Santana. He frowned as he read it.

"Guys, I'll just step outside for a minute." They nodded to confirm that they heard him, still engrossed in their conversation.

He grabbed his coat and stepped out the back door. Sure enough, Santana was standing there, Puck by her side.

Kurt looked at them suspiciously.

"What can you two possibly want from me? And why are we meeting in secrecy in my backyard? Are you sure you wanted me and not Finn?"

Puck looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Yeah. Look, Finn told me about Blaine."

Kurt swore under his breath and threw his hands up.

"Great. And you told Santana, and the rest of the world will know before tomorrow. Excuse me while I go and kill Finn."

"No, dude, chill."

"Don't call me dude." He was getting angry.

"Okay, man. Look, I only told Santana and we're not telling anyone else, I swear."

"Yeah, I won't even tell Brit and that's something, because I tell Brit everything," the brunette chimed in. She'd been silent up till then, looking uncharacteristically pale and tense.

"So what do you want from me?"

"We need details about that guy. As much info as you can get."

"What? Why?"

"It's better if you don't know. Let's just say…"

It was Santana who finished, her lips an angry thin line, brow furrowed. "… let's just say we don't like rapists."

"Um, okay? Are you saying you're gonna go kick his ass? Because if you do, I'm totally going with you."

Puck shook his head. "Yeah, I don't think so. What's the chance you won't try to kill him?"

"Pretty slim," Kurt admitted. He still saw red just thinking about Eric.

"See, it's a no go. We can't risk you going to jail. You wouldn't last a day. Just get all the details you can and send me a text, as soon as you can." With that, they turned and went back to Puck's car. Soon they disappeared down the street. Kurt stood there, gaping after them for a while, before he went back inside.

* * *

><p>Two hours later Kurt sent a text:<p>

_Eric Zane. French major, senior year. Dorm #4, 2__nd__ floor, don't know the room #. I hope it'll be worth it. B got a panic attack._

Instantly, his phone buzzed with an answer.

_Totally. Promise. Thx._

* * *

><p>Blaine spent all day watching his beautiful, amazing, supportive boyfriend, as he gathered the courage for what had to be done.<p>

He knew he needed to do it, he'd known it all along. But up until now it was just a distant possibility. A tough obligation to plan and procrastinate about. Now it changed. Now he had motivation to do it as soon as possible.

The assault made him believe there was nothing good waiting for him in life anymore. No love, no joy, no happy ending. Not even a week had passed and here he was, with this breathtaking boy by his side who swore to love him and stand by him through all that he had to deal with now. He still had future that he could believe in and hope for. His dreams of college in a big city (_Boston? New York? Washington?_), of sharing an apartment with a man he loved, of marriage and maybe even children one day – they were all still valid, except instead of a faceless stranger he could see Kurt in all of them now. He could still have it all. It would be more difficult than before, but it was feasible.

Kurt would love and support him. His only responsibility – a tough, painful, terrifying one – was doing everything he needed to recover. It meant therapy. It meant facing his demons every single day until he vanquished them. It meant confronting the man who did this to him. And the first step to do it was reporting the rape.

In the evening, when they were all sitting in the living room, watching _The Pirates of the Carribean_ half-heartedly while talking about their day and plans for the rest of the week, he decided to breach the subject.

"Mr. Hummel, do you have a moment tomorrow morning? I wanted to ask if you could take me to the police. I'm going to file the report."

There was a moment of silence as every pair of eyes in the room focused on him. Burt sounded a little choked up as he answered.

"Absolutely. Do you want me to call the officer doctor Miller recommended? The card is in your wallet."

"Already have. She'll be at the station up 'til noon tomorrow."

"It's settled then. We'll go around ten, is that okay?"

"Perfect. Thank you."

When he turned to Kurt, the look of love and pride in his tear-filled eyes nearly blew him away. It was worth every difficult moment he'd have to endure to be all he wanted to be for this boy, but also for himself. For them.

* * *

><p>Blaine didn't sleep well that night. Kurt had to wake him more than once, gently rescuing him from the grip of nightmares. When Friday morning came, he was exhausted, pale and so scared he felt nauseous. It was going to be so painful to remember every single detail, to talk about it to a stranger, that he felt like curling up inside of himself just thinking about it. He really wasn't sure he'd be able to do it. He just wanted it to be over.<p>

Standing in the driveway, Blaine was waiting for Mr. Hummel and trying with all his might not to panic. Suddenly he felt a warm hand sliding into his own. He startled.

"Kurt?" The boy was beside him, his boots and coat on.

"Did you think I'd let you suffer through this alone? I told you, I'm here for you. I'll be with you every step of this way." A wave of gratitude washed over Blaine, calming his nerves, as Kurt squeezed his hand. "Come on, let's get it over with."

* * *

><p>Listening to Blaine giving statement, describing everything that happened in minute details, was every bit as painful for Kurt as he'd imagined it would be and more, but he never hesitated, never wavered. His tears might have flown by buckets, but his hand in Blaine's was a steady presence, giving reassurance and grounding him in the present while his mind had to roam across the horror landscapes of last Friday night.<p>

Fortunately, the female detective recommended by Blaine's doctor was experienced in these kind of cases, sensitive while practical at the same time, and already familiar with the case after reading her friend's statement and documentation. He spoke soothingly and allowed breaks when she saw Blaine was breaking down.

Finally, it was over. Detective Pavlova closed the file with a sigh.

"Great. Your statement is exactly what we needed. Along with the other two and documentation of your injuries, it will be more than enough. We'll get the warrant in a blink and arrest the man before the day is over."

Blaine was so exhausted and tortured by the whole experience that it was Kurt who caught on first.

"What other two?"

"Yeah, there were more reports filed this morning. Two more boys, a bit older. Their cases aren't as strong without the medical documentation, but there's a pattern. It seems we had some help." The officer took an object out from her drawer and showed it to them.

Kurt's jaw dropped. "Holy shit… Um, sorry. Who…?"

"No idea. I guess you two don't know anything about it then?"

Blaine seemed to want to know the same thing, looking at Kurt with shocked amber eyes.

"Hey, it's not me! Come on! I have no idea what this is!"

Except maybe he had some suspicions.

* * *

><p>Before they went back to the car, Kurt excused himself to run to the toilet. Behind closed door he quickly took his phone out of his bag and found the proper number. Puck's voice was muffled and sleepy when he picked up, but he listened to Kurt's explaining where he was and what he wanted to know without a word. A beat of silence, then…<p>

"Hummel, I have no idea what you're on about. Now be kind and go do something gay, I was up all night and need to catch up on my beauty sleep. And say hi to the hobbit."

He hung up.

Kurt smirked knowingly to himself and maybe did just a tiny bit of victory dance before he went back outside, where he took his boyfriend's hand and led him to the car, smiling.

* * *

><p>Burt looked at two boys approaching the car, holding hands – one on them had his own blue-grey eyes and his late wife's chestnut hair, the other couldn't look more different, but he was close as a son to him now.<p>

He could see that things have changed between them.

And yes, of course he was worried – they were both so young, so vulnerable… But at the same time they were two of the strongest people he'd ever known. And they were good for each other.

He had a feeling they would be all right.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, I know I probably bent the legal procedures a bit again. I'm sorry, it was necessary.<strong>

**If you're curious what Santana and Puck did to Eric, come back tomorrow for the epilogue ;) **


	11. Epilogue

**A/N:** There should probably be a warning about language here. I'm sorry, this guy just has a really dirty mouth.

A big thank you to Penelope Snape, who sparked my inspiration for this turn of events with her comment.

* * *

><p>EPILOGUE<p>

On Thursday evening, Eric Zane was sitting in front of a mirror in his dorm room, styling his hair into a perfect out-of-bed look, when there was a loud knock on the door. He glanced at the clock. He still had an hour before his coffee date with the new guy, but he didn't really expect guests today. Well, it was probably just Steve anyway, back to whine some more about his bitch of a girlfriend. For reasons unknown, he seemed to think Eric could give him advice on how to tame her into submission. Not that he couldn't, of course, but it probably wouldn't be what this wimp expected. Eric chuckled to himself. Maybe it would be worth it, just to see the look in Steve's eyes when he scurried.

"Come in," he yelled, still busy fixing this one stubborn strand that kept flopping down on his forehead.

There was the sound of door opening, then closing, and a click of the lock. Whoa, what…?

When Eric looked up, there were two strangers in his room. The guy was kind of cute, with a Mohawk and a bad boy attitude, scowling at him from under dark eyelashes. There was a girl with him, Latina, in tight leather pants and heavy boots. If he was into girls, he'd probably say she was hot. They were both younger than him, most likely still in high school. And right now they were seriously overstepping his boundaries. What were they doing here? He jumped up to deal with the unwelcome guests and was momentarily blinded by a series of flashes.

"Well thank you," smirked the girl, putting a small camera back in her bag. "These will be perfect."

"Whoa, what the fuck? What do you think you're doing here?"

It was the guy that spoke now. "I hear you hurt my boy Blaine."

Oh, so that was what it's all about? Funny, he'd never think this one would talk. He looked way too ashamed for that, and from what he'd said earlier, his family wouldn't exactly support him if he did. So who was this, a brother? Not likely, didn't look like it. An ex-boyfriend? No, the kid told him he was the first one, how cute. Besides, his gaydar said no. So maybe just a friend. It didn't matter anyway.

"I don't know what you're talking about. And even if I did, what could you do, schoolboy? Beat me up? No offence, kid, but I don't think you're tough enough."

"Dude," the Mohawk looked amused, "it's not me you should be worried about."

Eric had just enough time to see the mad glint in the girl's eyes before she pounced.

* * *

><p>It was not going to be a good day, he thought, getting up Friday morning. He was stiff and sore – nothing serious, just roughed up a little. By a <em>girl<em>. The humiliation was half of the reason for his seriously bad mood. He had to cancel his date at the very last minute last night, too, so his weekend plans were _so_ not going to happen. Not that he could really dance at the club tonight. Not to mention fuck anyone. Hell, it would probably be a while before he could do _that_. This bitch's boots were steel-toed. Ouch. And she had razor-sharp fingernails. One side of his neck looked as if he had an argument with a rabid tiger. Hello, scarves and turtleneck sweaters. And there would probably be scars later.

_Shit._

Not that he worried all that much. None of his earlier _dates_ ever complained. So what if this little shit confided in his crazy friends? It's not as if they could do much. And to be honest, it was worth it – Blaine had been just delectable. Eric wouldn't mind doing him again.

His phone rang halfway through breakfast. _Harrison_, said the display. Eric quickly swallowed a bite of his sandwich and cleared his throat before answering.

"Good morning, Mr. Harrison," he said in his most polite tone.

"Mr. Zane, I wanted to inform you that Timmy won't need your help anymore. Your services are no longer needed. Thank you. Have a good day."

The man hung up and Eric stared at his phone, open-mouthed, for a long while. _Fuck_. Timmy Harrison generated a third of his income as a French tutor. There was half a dozen other kids that he taught once or twice a week, but none of them was from such a wealthy, influential family or paid so well. He'd have to tighten his belt now, at least until he found more students. He sighed, finished his coffee and checked the watch. Time to go, the first class started in ten minutes. He just hoped his day would get better now.

* * *

><p>People kept staring at him weirdly as he went through the dorm and across the campus. He pulled at his scarf self-consciously. Were the fresh scratches showing? Was his hair sleep-flattened at the back or something? Did he get ketchup on his nose? They'd never looked at him like this before. It was unnerving.<p>

He saw it when he got to the main building. His own face, with a half angry, half contemptuous expression, was looking back at him from a large flyer stuck to the door. There was a heading above, in huge fat black print.

_RAPIST_

Shit. _Shitshitshit_! He tore the flyer off and stared at it. His picture took half the page, sharp and instantly recognizable. It was one of those that mad bitch took yesterday. And if anyone still had any doubt it was him, there was a smaller photo of his student ID underneath, his name clearly visible. He vaguely remembered the Mohawk guy tossing his wallet. He was too busy trying to shake off the girl to react and nothing was missing when he checked afterwards, so he ignored it. Now he knew what he was looking for.

At the bottom of the flyer, in bold black letters, there were two simple lines of text.

PREDATORY GAY. CHILD MOLESTER.

STAY AWAY AND KEEP YOUR CHILDREN SAFE.

It was so simple, it was almost primitive. But it worked. People were whispering behind his back and pointing fingers, not even trying to be subtle about it. But if he thought _that_ was bad, he changed his mind when he got inside the building. There were _hundreds_ of flyers stuck everywhere – on bulletin boards, walls, doors. In the classrooms, in the toilets. There was no way _anyone _would miss them. He heard someone say they were not only in every building on the campus, but all over Lima, too. In the mall, at the bus stops and around schools. _Everywhere_. Eric tried taking off as many as he could before classes began, but it was pointless. There were just too many of them. So he decided to grin and bear it with his head held high. They were just stupid pieces of paper, there was no evidence. Give it a couple of days and the hype would pass. He'd just need to do some damage control in the meantime.

But it wasn't easy. People kept their distance, whispered and pointed at him all day. He heard his name spoken with disgust and contempt anywhere he went, caught snippets of conversations with wilder and wilder guesses and rumors. In classes there was suddenly a circle of empty chairs around him and the professors were looking at him sternly, even though he used to be one of the best and most popular students. The freshman he was supposed to meet for coffee last night passed him in the corridor, looking positively nauseous.

During lunch break he was summoned to the dean's office where he had to explain long and hard that it was just a stupid prank that someone played on him and there was not a grain of truth in the accusations. Then he had to repeat the explanations twice more when concerned parents of children he tutored called. They weren't convinced. Others didn't even bother to call, just fired him by text. By 4 pm, he only had one pupil left, and it was probably just because the boy was currently away in California with his parents. Just great. What was he supposed to do now? If the whole town saw the fucking flyers, no one would probably want to hire him for a while. He just hoped it wouldn't somehow get to his parents. They were extremely conservative and didn't even know he was gay.

* * *

><p>He had one more class to go to before he could lock himself in his room, collapse on the bed and plan revenge on Blaine. He'd rather go to his dorm right away and avoid all these stares, but this lecture was mandatory for everyone in his year, attendance checked every time and there was no way around it. So he just sat there, in the back, chairs next to him empty once again, and prepared for two long, boring hours.<p>

Halfway through the lecture, there was a knock on the door and two uniformed police officers entered. Eric's heart accelerated, but he kept his cool. It had to be a coincidence. There was no way Blaine reported him. He was always very careful to choose inexperienced guys with confidence issues and no strong support system. It was his way of ensuring nothing like this would ever happen. Nothing like what was happening _right now_.

One of the policemen was quietly talking to the professor.

She was pointing at Eric.

The officers were coming up to him. This could not be happening. His breathing was growing more labored by the second.

They were standing right in front of him now. When one of them spoke, his voice was loud and clear, carrying in excellent acoustics of the aula.

"Eric Matthew Zane, you are under arrest for three counts of sexual assault. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?"

The familiar clinking and coldness of the metal was somehow completely unsexy now, as the handcuffs were fastened just a bit too tightly over his own wrists.

_The End_

* * *

><p><strong>This is it. The end of this story. <strong>

**Thank you so much for reading and for all the amazing reviews. I've never expected such positive reactions to this and as a fairly novice writer (and one writing in a non-native language), I cherish each and every one of them even more.**

**I have a bunch of ideas for a potential sequel dealing with Blaine's further healing after he goes back home to his parents and returns to school, but I'm not sure it will ever get written. We'll see in a couple of weeks.**

**I hope you had a good time reading this story :)**


	12. Sequel announcement

There were many, many story alerts for this fic, so I'm putting this here to let everyone know that there's a sequel now – _Learning To Breathe Again_. Check in my profile!

Here's a little teaser :)

* * *

><p><strong>LEARNING TO BREATHE AGAIN<strong>

CHAPTER 1 - Countdown

Blaine Anderson was not a morning person. If he had a choice, he would never get up before nine. Yet there he was, on a Saturday morning, dawn barely beginning to seep through the window, wide awake and deep in thought.

A week ago at dawn he was leaving a hospital after a brutal assault (_rape, Blaine, stop running away from the word, it was rape_), broken, shocked and ashamed. His body was in pain, but it was nothing compared to what he was going through in his mind. He thought it was the end of everything. He was certain there was no life for him after that. It was as if this one act cut through every plan and prospect for the future he ever had and left him with only dark, cold emptiness to look forward to.

So much had changed in the seven days since then, even as so much remained the same.

He was still ashamed, but now he slowly started to believe the rape was not his fault and he didn't bring it on himself.

He was broken and in pain, but he had _hope_.

He didn't know how to put together the shattered pieces of himself, but he was shown that it didn't mean he couldn't still love and be loved.

He had no idea what future would bring for him, but he knew he _had_ a future, he could shape it and it could still be bright and good.

He had virtually no hope for support and acceptance from his family, but he found it here instead.

He stirred and immediately an arm embracing him tightened, a hand stroked his chest in a soothing gesture. He looked at the other occupant of the bed with open tenderness. Even asleep, Kurt kept guarding Blaine's dreams, ready to wake up at the first sign of trouble. Kurt. His best friend. His safe person. And now, his boyfriend. It was still so fresh, so new, only two days had passed since the conversation that changed things between them so unexpectedly. Yet at the same time it felt as if they'd been this close forever. In a way, they were. Nothing really changed between them after they confessed their love for each other. Maybe they felt a little bit less reserved about being close, maybe they held hands and looked at each other with open affection now. But since they agreed to leave the sexual aspect out of their relationship for the time being, mostly they just remained best friends. Best friends who were in love with each other.

And he owed Kurt so much. Kurt and this whole wonderful family who took him in and made him feel safe and accepted. Burt, who found him that night, who really _saw_ him, noticed what he tried to hide, and took charge, took care of him, never left him. He could have just given him a ride home and forgotten it, but he didn't. Then Carole – the mother he couldn't find in his own. Nurturing and warm, but without babying him, just like he needed. And Finn, who wasn't sure how to act around him yet, still awkward, but open and accepting. This family, this home – he couldn't find a better place to heal after his ordeal if he tried. It was the only spot of light in the darkness that fell after he was lured to an empty dorm room, handcuffed to the bed and violated.

But soon – and Blaine shuddered at the thought – he would have to step out of the light. He had one day left here before his parents came back from Europe and took him home. And there would be no tender care there, no ears ready to listen without judging and supportive shoulders to cry on, no chats and laughter over family dinners, and evenings spent playing board games or watching movies together. There would be a big, empty house, disapproving glances and cold words, and solitary nights with only his dreams to keep him company.

And that was just home. Come Monday, there would be school, and even though it meant temporary escape from the stifling walls of his family house, it came with its own challenges – with crowds of people, sudden, loud noises, with pretending to be _just fine_. Then he needed to start therapy and learn to deal with the memories and feelings that he didn't even want to think about, let alone describe to anyone. And of course, there was also the bleakest prospect of all – the trial.

Detective Pavlova called him last evening to inform him that Eric, his assailant, was arrested. She said she would call Blaine again as soon as there was a trial date set. Only then did he actually realize that reporting the rape and giving his statement was just a beginning, that there would be a trial – the scary chaos he's only ever seen in movies: judges, prosecutors and defenders, courtrooms with a bunch of anonymous people who were given the power to declare guilty or innocent – and that he'd have to testify. Maybe it was silly, but he hadn't thought so far ahead before and the realization scared him senseless. He ended up spending half an hour after this phone call huddled in the corner of the bed, shaking violently and unable to speak, while Kurt paced anxiously begging him to say something. Even now the thought of what would have to happen – and soon – paralyzed him.

As more and more birds chirped outside and the sun came higher, letting bright warm light into the room, Blaine's thoughts became darker and filled with more dread. It was as if he'd spent this last week in an oasis, surrounded by everything he needed, and now he had to go, leave it all behind, cross through a rocky, desolate, wind-swept desert all by himself, with no destination in sight. He felt lonely, scared and helpless already.

Movement by his side snapped him out of his miserable thoughts. Kurt gathered the covers tighter around himself and mumbled something in his sleep, slight smile playing on his relaxed face. Blaine breathed deeper. He still had time. Time to absorb as much of all the warmth and care surrounding him now as he could. He would cherish every minute of it, save it and let it carry him through the tough times that were bound to come.

He turned to cuddle closer into Kurt's embrace and closed his eyes.

**Continued in _Learning To Breathe Again_. **

**First two chapters are already up, look for it in my profile!**


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